


rise and shine

by idolatry (bellmare)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bonding over food, Friendship, Gen, NaNoWriMo 2017, Past Relationship(s), rad bromance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellmare/pseuds/idolatry
Summary: Old skeletons are only hidden as far as you bury them. Or, the awkward moment when you have to share a Deep and Meaningful Moment with someone you never expected to.-- Jae, Lysander.





	rise and shine

The fog comes  
on little cat feet.  

It sits looking  
over harbor and city  
on silent haunches  
and then moves on.  
\- "Fog", Carl Sandburg. 

* * *

“Would you like to talk about it,” Lysander asked as they lurched into his hotel room. He passed the card key to Jae and then yanked the door shut behind him, turning on the  _do not disturb_  light. Jae stomped past him to flop down on the bed with a loud and unnecessary noise of complaint, taking great care to avoid putting any weight on his left hand and arm. Jae, on his part, ignored whatever look Lysander choose to shoot his way; if anything, he was perfectly entitled to a few groans and complaints, given what had transpired earlier in the evening.

Jae stared up at the ceiling, then shut his eyes. He thought of a multitude of responses to Lysander's not-quite-question, each more snide and pithy than the last. Finally, he cracked open one eye, only to find Lysander still looking at him with a curious expression. If he didn’t know any better, Jae would’ve thought it was as close to a look of concern as he was ever going to get. If anything, it was also a look that didn’t suit Lysander at all. “Say,” Jae drawled, loud and lazy as he tried to nudge his shoes off. “It this what you say to all the people you invite back to your room?"

He succeeded in kicking one shoe off; it sailed in a sad little arc, hitting a chair leg with a thump. “You’re surprisingly well-received for someone who can't and doesn’t flirt worth a damn. I guess you have nice eyes, when you’re not too busy frowning like whoever spoke to you personally insulted your ancestors.” Too late, Jae remembered it was perhaps not the best subject to bring up, especially to Lysander. Witches tended to be proud of their lineages, particularly those of the old and noble blood; he didn't know that much about Lysander's past, but he did know enough to have long ago picked up on the sensitivity of the topic. It wasn't something he'd ever personally cared about, anyways -- but Lysander got uptight about the strangest things, sometimes; family struck Jae as a significant one of those.

"I mean, uh, what." Jae paused, nibbling on the inside of his cheek as he mentally backpedaled furiously. "Uh. when you're not too busy frowning like whoever spoke to you personally offended you?"

Lysander, to his credit, was no longer wearing what Jae secretly liked calling the patented cat-that-sat-on-a-cactus look he wore nearly as well as one of his many favourite cashmere coats. On the other hand, he wasn't smiling, either, but sometimes one had to take whatever wins they could. Jae stuck his arms out, forming a lopsided square with his thumbs and forefingers to frame Lysander's head with. “You’re not too bad, until you open your mouth and then proceed to show everyone just what a how charmless you are. Hm. Ming did tell me you were always pretty bad at talking to girls. Or other people, for that matter.” He wiggled his foot as he spoke; his other shoe dropped to the carpet with a soft and dismal thud. "You're so lucky you have me to be your wingman."

Despite everything that had transpired earlier in the evening, Jae still managed to feel a tiny thrill of satisfaction at the look of annoyance that flitted across Lysander’s face. The man in question was preoccupied nursing his right forearm, gingerly assessing the damage; a tendon twitched in his left wrist when Jae spoke, his fingers momentarily tightening around his elbow. As quickly as it appeared, the expression passed and Lysander’s face was unreadable again. More distressingly, his curious and ill-fitting expression of concern was back again. Jae sighed. “Fine, okay, don’t look at me like that, I was just teasing.”

“I’m glad one of us can still retain our sense of humour in this kind of situation,” Lysander said, breaking his silence at last. Then, he glanced sharply at Jae, mouth still slightly open; Jae could see the horror sinking in -- the horror of the implication that he would have to keep talking, or continue attempting to address the issues at hand, or, worse still, reassert his offer of listening to whatever Jae had to say. Lysander shut his mouth, busying himself with shedding his coat, wristwatch, and cufflinks, before awkwardly sitting at the edge of the bed. Neither of he nor Jae chose to comment on the long, unusually-shaped metal stakes embedded in the outer shell of his right forearm.

They both waited for what felt like hours. Lysander sat still and straight-backed, staring at a spot in the mirror, his pale eyes unfocused and unblinking. Jae decided to content himself with admiring the ceiling cornices once more. “Nice room you got,” he said. Lysander straightened slightly and coughed. “Yes, it is,” he said. “Thanks.” For a brief moment, he made eye contact with Jae in the mirror, then decided to resume studying the tears in his sleeves and the assortment of stakes poking out of his arm.

Jae sighed. At least he wasn't the only one feeling uncomfortable. He cast around for things to say, glancing over the contents and furnishings of the suite. "Uhh. They, uh, put you up here often?”

Lysander made a noise of assent. “I’m here regularly enough.”

Jae resisted the urge to leer. “I’m sure you are.”

Lysander glanced sharply at him, and Jae couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. “Look, I can’t help it if you walk right into these things, all right? Think about what you say sometimes.”

“... shut up,” was all Lysander had to say on the matter.

Jae sighed and laced his fingers behind his head. “So, what does it take to get nice digs like you do? I’m a pleb and don’t even get a suite, let alone any VIP treatment. I don't even get any complimentary chocolate. You got frequent-stayer points or something?”

“Something like that. Moreover, you’ve got a deluxe room,” Lysander pointed out. “That’s hardly living in hardship.”

“What kind of deluxe room doesn't have complimentary chocolate?!" Jae demanded. "You rarely even hang around enough to enjoy the rooms they put you in, anyway! What’s the point? It's just a place to sleep for you. Might as well give it to me, I’d appreciate it more. The pay-per-view channels, the room service, the jacuzzi, the balcony, the complimentary champagne, all the space to lounge around in, the expensive snacks that are probably wired to charge your account the moment you pick them up ... think about it."

Lysander made a face. "I'd rather not, thanks. In what world is it reasonable to pay a small fortune for a small bag of chips?"

Jae ignored him. "All this luxury is kinda wasted on you, just saying. No offense, but also full offense. Why give you a suite if you're not even going to use three-quarters of the space and amenities available to you? Have you ever used the jacuzzi?”

That seemed to pique Lysander's interest. Or perhaps that was relief in his expression, for having a different topic to latch on to inistead; Jae had no idea. "There's a jacuzzi?"

Jae snapped his fingers together. "Exactly. Wasted, I tell you. Wasted. Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink. Or, in your case, to have a leisurely soak in, I guess. Same idea. How can you have not checked out the other half of the bathroom? What did you think that big, fat tub was for? Washing your laundry? Friendly, hotel-supplied portal to the Naraka? Oh, yeah, sure, I think every single hotel developer looks at a room and thinks, 'you know what this place needs? Oh, I don't know, how about a way for the theoretical visiting thaumaturgist to conveniently summon all manners of nasties from the Abyss of the Dead? Geez. You're a riot, and not in a good way."

"I don't have the time -- nor need -- to check out the local bathroom attractions."

Jae resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "We don't need a lot of things, buddy, but that doesn't mean we can just ignore them!"

Lysander stared down at him. “Fine, have it your way. If this is your ploy to not talk about what happened, that’s fine as well.” He sounded almost relieved.

Jae raised a hand and waggled his index finger. “It’s a ploy, all right. A ploy to scam you out of your room. Pony up!”

“Whatever. You can stay here if you want, you know, if you don’t feel like making the trek back downstairs and suffering in your deluxe accomodation. Give me your card."

Jae sat up. "What, no. Why?"

"You know." Lysander gestured vaguely. "If you want some space or something, but don't feel like doing anything or going anywhere. If you need to collect yourself. Whatever. I understand," he added, sounding even more awkward than before, were that even possible.

"And what if someone else also knows where I'm staying, and is waiting to ambush me if I'm stupid enough to go back? Or worse still, what if _you_ get ambushed?!"

Lysander snorted; it was an oddly undignified sound. “A bit late for you to be worrying about that, isn’t it? Given that we’re staying in the same building?”

“Yes, but he might know where my room is. Especially if he has it out for me. Which he totally does.”

"I’ll see if I can wrangle another room here, then,” Lysander said after a few moments. “Or go somewhere else.” He got to his feet, the edge of the bed rising with the motion. “Matter closed, though your concern for me is flattering. I’ll check up on you in the morning.”

“Hey, wait a minute, where the hell d’you think you’re going? I thought you were supposed to be smart.” 

Lysander glared. “I _am_ smart.”

Jae snorted patted the bedspread next to him. “All the brains in the world, and you still can’t read the mood very well, nonetheless. C'mon, sit your ass back down, I'm gonna spell it out nice and clear for you."

With great reluctance, Lysander sat down. Jae cleared his throat and sat up, taking on a pensive posture -- leg crossed, ankle over knee, elbows on thighs. "Now, humour me here. What if the guy from earlier was tracking us? What if he decides to pay me a visit after you leave? Who’s going to come swooping gallantly in to save my ass?”

Lysander held up two fingers. “Two things. One, I’m pretty sure that was _your_ friend and there’s nothing  _our_ or  _we_ about this, because I sure as hell don’t know any nutjob Magisterium mercenaries with grudges--”

“Because you’re the only nutjob mercenary with grudges that you know,” Jae interrupted, relishing the near-imperceptible narrowing of Lysander’s eyes. “That, and I'm pretty sure you know more than one nutjob Bureau mercenary with grudges. Relax, don't look at me like that, you know exactly what I mean, and I mean it in the nicest way possible. What you do and don’t do in your downtime, frankly, isn’t any of my business and I also don’t want to know what you’re up to. Your second point?”

“The second thing,” Lysander said between clenched teeth, “is that you’re more than capable of saving your own ass. Not very gallantly, but you’re capable of it nonetheless. I ... I have that much belief in your abilities.”

“What a wonderful endorsement.” Jae flopped back down and rolled over, pressing his cheek against the cool bedspread. His arm twinged, though it wasn't the sharp, stabbing pain from before; it was more an insistent throb, like something hot spearing up through the length of his arm and back out again. “Not quite as glowing as I’d have preferred, but I never thought I’d see the day when you had something nice to say about me.”

“I’m not nice,” Lysander said almost reflexively. “But you’re not entirely useless, either. I have to give some credit, where credit is due.”

“Wow.” Jae laughed, the sound muffled by the duvet. “Maybe the world really is ending. Maybe I really have died and gone to heaven, and now I’m kinda witnessing you writing my eulogy or something. Never thought we’d reach the point where you had two nice things to say about me in about as many minutes.”

“Don't get used to it,” Lysander said; Jae knew him well enough to know from the sound of his voice that he was smiling, even a little. “If that makes you feel better after your near-death experience, then so be it. But I’d also really appreciate it if you stopped rubbing your grubby face against the sheets, I have to sleep there.”

Jae smirked, even though he knew Lysander couldn’t see him. “You mean  _we_ have to sleep there. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

He rolled onto his back, to find Lysander glaring down at him. Jae laughed at his outraged expression. “Why do you have to be like that?” Lysander demanded, throwing his hands into the air, and almost dislodging one of the stakes lodged in his prosthetic. He wedged it back in place before it could get any looser; the bodywork of his arm creaked in protest. Dull greyish coolant dribbled down his elbow; he hurriedly snatched a wad of tissues from the box on the writing desk and mopped the fluid up. “I’m trying to, I don’t know, help you but you just keep derailing--”

“Hey, buddy, I don’t knock your coping mechanisms,” Jae said, propping himself upright on his elbows. A sharp pain lanced across his chest and shoulders, lodging right beneath his breastbone; he winced, adjusting his position slightly. “Not everyone deals with things like you do, as impossible to fathom as that is. Not everyone likes to brood in silence and solitude and dwell on everything that went wrong, not everyone likes to critically analyse everything they could’ve done better or differently, or go over their mistakes in morbid detail, time and time again, and get obsessed with having to be perfect and infallible and living up to fuck-knows-what."

Lysander opened his mouth, though he no longer looked angry -- just bemused. Jae steamrolled on, before he could continue. "Some of us aren’t masochists, y'know? Some of us would much rather try putting that out of mind, at least, even for a while. Is that really too much to ask? And, hell, maybe some of us like to try and see the funny side, even if there aren’t any. It’s really not that hard. Oh, and some of us aren't afraid to ask for help or company, you know. Gee, I wonder who I could be talking about, who's so stubbornly above things like that?”

That seemed to have struck a nerve. Lysander made an attempt to fold his arms, before deciding otherwise when he came dangerously close to jabbing himself in the chest with the ends of several stakes. Instead, he settled for standing up and putting his coat back on, and retrieving his overnight bag from the luggage rack. “Oh my god, where are you going, you asshole?" Jae asked, watching as Lysander wordlessly made his way to the door. "Are you really just going to give me the silent treatment and leave in a hissy fit, because you didn't like what I said?" When no response was forthcoming, Jae got to his feet, too. "Fine, okay, I’m sorry, I take it back, you can brood to your heart’s content and I’ll join you, we can have a nice heart-to-heart and be miserable and join hands and sing kumbaya and bond over shitty past events, if that makes you feel better.”

Lysander scowled. "It's not that. I'm more than capable of handling things.  _Emotions._ "

Jae cackled despite himself, despite the situation. "Emotions?! Listen to yourself. Oh, god. Here, stop trying so hard before you spontaneously combust. I mean it. Let's both be sad and emo."

"No."

“No? _No?_ Where d’you think you’re going?!" Jae threw up his hands -- along with the remnants of his pride. "I thought I just told you to stay, because, damn it, some of us are able to admit that perhaps some company would be nice, even if said company is about as pleasant or helpful as a brick wall.”

“I’ll be back later,” Lysander said at last.

Jae bared his teeth. “Oh, okay, need a timeout from the nasty emotional outburst? Was it too much for your stony little heart to handle, because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon? Fuck. And here I was thinking you were going to listen to me talk about it, like you so generously offered.”

They regarded each other in silence. Finally, Lysander blinked first. "I don't think you're ready yet," he said, surprising Jae. "Listen to yourself. You're a wreck. But no, it’s not that.” He held up his arm, grimy tissues still wedged against whatever was leaking coolant or hydraulic fluid through the cracked chassis. “It's just, this is starting to hurt, and it's getting on my nerves more than your complaining is, so I'd like to fix one of the sources while I can.”

Jae shut his mouth. Well, perhaps a different sort of nerve had been struck, then. “Starting? StartingI?! It should’ve hurt ages ago, perhaps when, I dunno, you decided to use it to deflect someone trying to stab your face.”

Lysander ignored him. “Give me a call if anything comes up.” He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck. “And, uh, maybe it'd be a good idea for you to go to the gym or the pool or something."

"Excuse me," Jae barked, almost breaking out in a fit of hysterical laughter. "Now you want me to  _exercise_? What's wrong with you?! You should be buying me ice-cream or something."

"Shut up," Lysander snapped, clearly nearing the end of his tether. "You clearly need to let off some steam of some description and I don't want to be around for that part. Look, maybe those were bad suggestions, I don't know what you'd rather do. Go to the sauna instead, sweat out some of that tension. Or go to the spa. I don’t know, maybe all those aromatic oils will make you feel better. You know." He waved his hand in a vague gesture. "Aromatherapy has 'therapy' in it, right? And isn't that what you need right now?"

"Oh, yeah, like you're one to talk. No fucking spa's gonna help now," Jae grumbled and sat back down. He rolled over onto his side to face the window. “But sure, yeah, whatever, I guess. Bring back some food, I’m starving. Nothing like a little excitement in your evening to make you hungry.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Unless you want me to order room service and charge everything to your account? I can do that too, I saw a very nice restaurant downstairs, when we were on the way up. D'you think I can order the entire buffet spread and get them to send it up?”

This time, it seemed, Lysander didn’t even bother rising to the bait. “Do whatever you want,” was all he said, and he shut the door behind him.

.

In the end, Jae did end up going to the pool. At first he went through as many laps as he could without stopping, until the skies darkened. He went much slower than he would have normally, impeded by his injured arm and the way it twinged in protest each and every time he moved it. The makeshift bandage started coming loose halfway through his third or fourth lap, pulled apart by the water resistance. The remains of Lysander's scarf dragged behind him, a ghostly, fluttering trail in the water. By the sixth lap, the chlorine was starting to sting against the wounds, sharp and insistent. 

He swam up and down the length of the pool, backwards and forwards, until his arms and legs were shaking and he thought he was going to vomit from the exertion. Only then did he stop, slumping over the edge of the pool and trying not to get even more nauseous at the sharp smell of chlorine. 

Thunder rumbled, a low warning along the horizon; Jae leaned back against the edge, watching flashes of lightning flaring bright and white-hot against the bellies of distant stormclouds. He knew a little about measuring the distance of storms, a little about predicting how far away they were, and how long he had to move before it struck. Too bad he hadn't been able to escape a storm of a different kind, one that was far less easy to avoid than just a bit of rain and wind.

If anything, he could do with a drink. A margarita would be nice. Buoyed by the thought of rewarding himself with one from the hotel bar, Jae pushed off from the edge of the pool, floating towards the centre.

For what felt like hours, he floated there on his back, squinting up at the thin sliver of moon overhead, just barely visible through a thick, dark curtain of cloud cover. His arm burned and throbbed, the skin feeling uncomfortably hot and uncomfortably tight. The air smelled sharp, almost metallic, the storm borne closer by cool easterly winds. Perhaps if he stayed out here long enough, he'd get struck by lightning and get cooked alive in the pool.

The water lapped at his skin, deceptively warm. Jae shifted his head slightly, until the water was over his ears, and listened to the beat of his heart as it slowed back to resting pace. He sank slowly, exhaling soft, silvery streams of bubbles as he went; for a few brief moments, he tried opening his eyes underwater, and could faintly make out the pale, indistinct glow of the lights along the edge of the pool.

* * *

_It had been a routine enough recon trip, if it could even be called that. Jae never sought clearance for anything himself. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book -- send a cryptic message, leave the subject wondering, hungry for more. He was no stranger to this; after all, he'd done the same plenty of times before_  

_"You are a moron," Lysander said when he met Jae at the airport. "It's one of the oldest tricks in the book, and here you are falling for it. Hook, line, and sinker."_

_"Shut up. Don't you have a business deal to be closing? Some contracts to be signing? Why're you taking time out of your busy life to pick me up?"_

_"Trying to make you see sense, dumbass." Lysander straightened, scanning the crowd clustered near the arrival gate. "Where're all your bags? Is that all you've got?"_

_Jae held up his empty hands, making a show of examining them. "Uh, yes? I'm only meant to be here on a day trip, you know. Not everyone has 'jetsetting business official' in their job descriptions."_

_"You could, if you really wanted to."_

_"Hmm, let me think about that-- hell no. Opportunities for travel aside, it's boring as shit. Besides, we've got that big board meeting tomorrow, so I can't stay longer even if I wanted to."_

_"Oh," Lysander said, leading the way out of the main airport building, towards the taxi stands. "How funny. I thought you never paid attention during those, so I never really understood why you bothered with attending. More to the point, do you really think a day is enough time to sort this out?"_

_"It's just one lead. A lead I've been waiting for for ... well over two centuries."_

_"... and you think a day is enough to chase up a lead that's centuries old."_

_"I'm an optimistic man," Jae said, smiling widely; he hoped his own apprehension and misgivings didn't quite show. "A day's plenty, trust me."_

_Lysander made a disbelieving noise but didn't press the matter further. Instead, he checked his watch, impatient. "Come on, then. Let's get back to the hotel at least. I don't like the sound of this. Someone's baiting you, and, idiot that you are, you're playing into their hands."_

_"I need some excitement in my life." Jae hung back as Lysander hailed a taxi. "Don't you think waltzing into danger is exciting? You need to give and take a little, when it comes to gathering information." He waggled a finger, smug. "Knowledge is power, and you don't get that power without paying a bit of a price. How d'you think I came by all that other info?"_

_Lysander made a face as he wrenched open the door of the taxi that'd pulled up before them."You sound just like my sister. Since when did you voluntarily waltz into anything?"_

_Jae frowned, hefting his overnight bag into the backseat. "What're you, my boss? Don't worry your pretty head about what I do and don't do, you'll give yourself wrinkles. Or white hair." He lowered his sunglasses, smirking. "Not that you need any help in that department."_

_The rest of the day passed in an uneventful lull -- but Jae knew better than to get too relaxed. Just like how the skies were dark all afternoon, just like how the smell of ozone settled, thick and low and heavy into the smog, he knew there was a storm coming. He spent most of the afternoon skulking in his room; Lysander had vanished sometime after they'd arrived, leaving Jae to stew by himself. Most of the restaurants in the hotel were closed; they had arrived late in the afternoon, in the nebulous time between lunch and dinner. He settled for venturing out to explore in the near vicinity of the hotel; there weren't many convenience stores in this part of town, leaving him to settle for a can of vending machine coffee. Over-sweetened and slightly metallic-tasting, it was still better than nothing. Had he not found that, there was no doubt in his mind that he might have resorted to eating sugar packets._

_He met Lysander at the lobby a little past five, as per their prior agreement; the sun set early these days, a prelude to the wet and rainy autumn soon to settle in the region. Lysander lurked in one of the loveseats in the hotel lounge, looking slightly incongruous with a thick and bulky greatcoat draped over his clothes, a pair of gloves draped over his knee. Jae sauntered over, plucked Lysander's drink from the little coffee table, and drained the contents. It was decidedly non-alcoholic, but that was probably just as well, given their agenda for the evening._

_Lysander shot him a look that might as well have been daggers. "Do you mind. I was going to finish that."_

_Jae grinned toothily. "Not at all. I'm starving. Man, I really hope we can wrap this up pronto. Speaking of which, where are you taking me for dinner tonight?"_

_"_ _What? Since when was that on the agenda? And why do I have to take you out?"_

_"You've been here for a good week or so," Jae said, shovelling the ice from the glass into his mouth. He crunched noisily on the ice with his back teeth, before plucking the lime slice from the rim of the glass and munching on that, too. It did nothing to solve his hunger -- if anything, it made his empty stomach growl all the louder. If Lysander noticed, he made no comment. Jae set the now-empty glass back down on the tiny table with a flourish. "Surely you know some good places around. Food's a universal constant, ain't it?"_

_"We'll see," Lysander said at last, conceding. "Depends on how soon we can wrap your business up."_

_"... all I'm getting from this is, the sooner we leave, the sooner we can get that done and go eat. Well then, let's go, chop chop. Look alive, sunshine."_

_Lysander got to his feet, grumbling all the while. He stuffed the gloves into his coat pocket, the fingers sticking out over the top. "Like you're one to talk. Sure took your sweet time, and this is your own personal mission, too. What were you doing, straightening your hair?"_

_"Yes, gotta look my best for this mystery lead." Jae tapped the side of his nose as they walked out of the lobby. "Otherwise they'll take one look at you and run away screaming. Can't have that, now, can we?"_

_"No," Lysander said, straight-faced. "I'll try not to scowl too much."_

_Jae snorted. "Bit too late for that, buddy. I'd say you scowled too much when you were a kid and then your face just stuck that way. But I mean, what if our informant is a cute girl? Or a cute guy, that works too. Either way, we gotta make sure they don't get spooked after seeing that handsome face of yours that just screams 'murder'. Some people may think it's a cute and an endearing personality trait, but I'm pretty sure they're in the vast and significant minority of our population."_

_They walked a few blocks to the public carpark where they'd left their rental car, the short trip passing in a mostly amicable silence. There was a brief disagreement over who would drive, the dispute summarily settled over a round of rock-paper-scissors which Lysander won. If possible, he looked faintly smug about it, and settled into the driver's seat with a certain air of satisfaction. In retaliation, Jae set the radio station to a local one; they drove in relative silence, accompanied by the melancholy warbling of some folk singer. It started to rain halfway through the drive, and Jae felt himself falling into a fitful doze; Lysander's hand twitched when the singer reached a particularly high note, and he shot into a roundabout far faster than he would have normally. "Watch it," Jae snapped when his head smacked against the window; Lysander pretended to ignore him, increasing the speed of the windscreen wipers._

_It was petty, but Jae switched the radio to another station. A loud thumping, booming rap number greeted them, echoing in the confined space of the car. For a minute or so, they waged a silent war over who would control the volume -- Lysander via the buttons on the steering wheel, and Jae with the knob on the dashboard -- until Lysander finally gave up. Jae, on his part, relished the victory, and spent the remainder of the trip pretending to sleep while the bass hammered, heavy and insistent, against his ears._

_Somewhere along the way, their GPS cut out -- as did the radio. "Not long now," Jae said into the static silence. Lysander did not reply._

_They arrived at their destination -- if it could even be called that -- at about seven._ Destination _was perhaps too strong and concrete a word; the winding road had simply ended, truncated by a landslide. The path fell away, continuing towards nothing, the remains of the guardrails extending out into the air like broken teeth and splintered bones. Cracked bitumen and asphalt stretched out before them, the road worn and potholed, the lines faded by the sun; to the side was what could possibly have been a rest stop in better days, the buildings nothing more than weathered shells, open to the elements._

_Lysander stopped the car, then cut the engine. Jae stretched and yawned, and took a better look around. Steel support beams rose from the broken walls, the metal so rusted it was the dark, dull red-brown of old blood, the oxides coated thick and brittle around the beams. Weeds and other miscellaneous plant life grew out of the remains of the rest stop -- from the heart of the central building, a massive tree had sprouted, its roots twisting and winding, thick and gnarled around the concrete; it was unclear whether the tree was holding the building in place, or vice versa. Tall stalks of sword grass grew in irregular patches, the ends waving in the wind, stalks bent and bowed from the weight of falling rain._

_Here and there, the twisted, empty carcasses of cars littered the place, thick tufts of grass and scraggly wildflowers twining through the hollowed-out engines and cracked hubcaps. The paint on the bodywork, too, was chipped and faded, the colours long leached by prolonged exposure to the sun._

_Night had fallen without Jae realising it, a heavy, velvety darkness that draped thick shadows over the ruins of the abandoned stop. Lysander pulled his gloves on, but didn't get out of the car just yet. "It's a trap," he said without looking at Jae. He opened and shut his fingers experimentally, making sure he had enough range in motion and flexibility. The gloves must have been new._

_Jae clicked his tongue against his teeth, impatient. "Yes, yes, get your 'I told you so's out of the way early. You'll feel better. I'm sure you'll get plenty more in, by the time the night is up."_

_Out in the distance, Jae thought he could see something, the car's headlights reflecting off many sets of watching eyes. Of course there would be wild, feral animals out here, in the middle of nowhere, seeking refuge amongst the wrecks and ruins. It was quiet outside, save for the patter of rain against the car bonnet and windshield, drumming a steady, staccato pattern against the roof._

_"So even you admit this is a bad idea." Lysander rested his hands on the steering wheel, fingers tapping idly against the faux leather. He stared straight ahead into the ruins, then flicked the car headlights off, plunging them into darkness. Even from that distance, all Jae could see was the gleam of his eyes, and the sharp line of his cheekbones. "Why did you decided to follow this tip? What's so important about it?"_

_Jae didn't answer for a long time, and instead busied himself with checking his pockets, before reaching in the backseat for one of the carrier cases they'd picked up along the way. He popped the locks, pushing the lid back. The handgun wasn't his preferred model, but it would have to do. Loaded, safety on, into the holster which he fumbled with putting on. It probably wouldn't be any use against whatever was up against them, but there was nothing wrong with some backup. His hands hesitated over the smooth, carved bone-white mask he'd jammed into the glove compartment; the golden rim glinted at him, almost accusatory. Next to him, Lysander had already donned his._

_Jae had always found the masks somewhat unnerving, with their carved, frozen features -- detailed enough to be able to tell what lineage their wearer was, from a distance, but blank and featureless enough to unsettle._

_Outside, the rain had finally abated. Jae thumbed at the car lock, then opened his door. The air was chilly, nipping at his exposed neck. Not for the first time, he wished he had Lysander's propensity for scarves. His breath fogged out before him in a thick and wispy cloud; the cold night air felt like thin knives, stabbing at his lungs._

_He waited until Lysander had gotten out as well, his boots crunching against the sandy ground. By unspoken agreement, Lysander took the lead, stepping ahead with the measured, near-silent footfalls of a cat. "Closure," Jae said to Lysander's back. "There's someone that promised me they could give me that much."_

_Lysander stopped short. "Closure, huh?" he said, not turning around. "Guess I can kinda see where you're coming from."_

_Jae tried to laugh. "What can I say? It's not like I don't realise how stupid this entire thing is, how stupid I am to willingly take obvious bait like that. But, hey. People do stupid things all the time, for the sake of closure, for the sake of putting ghosts to rest. And I was never even that smart to begin with."_

_They were silent as they edged cautiously closer to the ruins. Lysander made a gesture over his shoulder._

I'll take the left.

_Jae scowled, even though he knew Lysander couldn't see him._ Y'know, I hate it when you switch to comms without warning.

_Lysander was out of sight by now, circling around one of the buildings. He didn't reply for what felt like several minutes, before he asked,_ why?

No offense, but I don't like other people in my head.

I don't know how many times I need to tell you this. I'm not actually in your hea--

_Lysander broke off, and Jae caught the beginnings of a loud and none-too-eloquent curse that Jae could hear both out loud and in the comms. He froze, uncertain, before slowly aligning himself towards where Lysander's voice had come from._ Hey, what's happening?

_There was no response. Jae coughed quietly into his gloved hand. "Hey, eagle one to grumpy asshole," he hissed, "status update?"_

_Silence greeted him, pressing against his eardrums. He could detect the barest trace of something, a low, hissing whine that started at the base of his skull._

\--possible interference, perhaps a jammer _, Lysander was saying, his words sounding distant and disjointed._ Careful. Possible Bureau involvement. 

Got it. Stay safe.

_He stayed there for several agonising moments, straining his ears -- it was eerily silent, save for the low moaning of the wind through the shell of the ruins. Jae bobbed back and forth on the balls of his feet, every muscle tense._ You all right there? Status update?

_The hissing of white noise intensified, and Jae ground his back teeth together, trying to drown the noise out. That was the problem with fancy new communications sets like these -- no way to remove them, unless he wanted to reach into the base of his skull and claw the implant out of himself._ Status update?  _he repeated, feeling his heart starting to pound in the back of his throat._ Hey, there's plenty of time for playing around later.

Incoming.

_He wheeled sharply at the sound -- for this was a different voice, strangely distorted and layered, accompanied by the sharp spitting of interference. Out of the corner of his eye, Jae thought he saw a blur of movement -- just as Lysander restored the connection, voice suddenly alarmingly loud and clear._ Careful, I lost them--

_"Shit," Jae spat, ducking under the arc of a sword. He saw something, pale bone-white, out of the corner of his eye, saw the telltale glint of eyes. Green-gold, hazel, almost, just visible through a gaping crack that cut across the mask like a fissure. He staggered a little, when he fell back, bracing his hand against the leaf-litter to catch himself. Tiny stones and gravel jabbed into his palm; he hastily ducked lower, then tumbled into an inglorious roll to avoid the next swing._

_The stranger clung to the shadows; Jae could only see the end of their sword, tip pointed towards the ground. He thought he heard the soft rattle of chains, the links catching against metal._

_"I see you're as adept at saving your own skin as ever, Jang Jae Young," the person said. They straightened, slowly; Jae sucked in a sharp breath he didn't know he'd been holding._

_The assailant was clad in a uniform of some kind, black accented with dark purple. They wore an armband emblazoned in gold with the sigil of the Magisterium, an eye radiating points like the rays of the sun; on their shoulders and lapels, the insignias and bars and badges of a high-ranked executor, grand adept. Over the ensemble they wore a simple dark cape to keep out the elements, the outside slick and waterproofed oilskin, the lining dull, velvety purple. Droplets of rain glittered on the surface of their cape, dusted along the shoulders, dripping from the hems._

_Most incongruous was the mask they wore. It was a typical witch mask, sculpted bone-white alabaster in the shape of their lineage. The carvings and markings along the face were long-faded, the mineral dyes and colours patchy and discoloured at parts. Thaumaturgists never hid their faces; even more unusual, for them to claim and wear the masks of the ones they’d hunted._

_The Choe fox clan had always been -- and still was -- a large, populous one, wide and sprawling and many-branched; over the centuries, their lineage had spread, even among humans. He should never have been surprised, to see the clean, angular features of the mask. The stranger wore theirs slightly askew, at an angle that would almost be considered jaunty in any other situation. In theory, they would have been indistinguishable from anyone else in their clan, anyone else of the same lineage._

_In theory, anyway. Things never worked out according to theories, simple and clean as they were._

_He recognised the sharp, livid cracks and furrows across the face; the surface was dull and worn, chips missing from the edge. The last time he had seen that mask was well over a century ago, on the face of someone that was supposed to be long dead._

_That was the unfortunate thing about the dead. Sometimes, they had a habit of returning to haunt the living._

_They studied each other in silence, neither intent on making the first move. Jae glanced to the right of the figure, and then left, made a decision. He went in low, hand at the ready to materialise a weapon, fingers closed around a phantom guard--_

_Not fast enough to fully summon Muhandae, not fast enough to avoid something long and sharp and thin that the masked person hurled at him. Instinctively, he raised an arm to ward off the projectile before it could hit him in the face -- and it embedded itself in his forearm, between his wrist and elbow._

_It burned against his skin, against the flesh and tendon of his arm. It burned against his fingers when he grasped the curiously-shaped handle to wrench it out; it clattered to the ground -- a metal stake, about twice the length of his hand, the surface crawling with arrays; there was a talisman attached to the handle, an array for limiting, disintegrating, and disruption written in loose, crawling script. Too late, he realised pulling the stake out was a mistake --  he'd thought only of removing it, of getting that godawful hellfire out from under his skin. The wound bled freely now, oozing down his arm and staining the sleeve._

_His arm was tingling, numb from the elbow down, a curious sensation of deadness despite being able to move his hand. Jae staggered a little, attempted to reach for the familiar magic of Muhandae--_

_Gravel crunched underfoot and his head snapped sharply up. The masked figure had bridged the distance between them, alarmingly fast and alarmingly quiet; Jae could make out the glint of more stakes in their hand._

_"Come now," they said; despite the flatness of their voice, they sounded disappointed. "You're capable of more than that. I know it, and you know it."_

_Jae sucked in a shallow breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. "Yeah, well, a bit hard to be capable of more right no--"_

_"A flesh wound." The executor flicked their hand dismissively; the stakes between their fingers glinted, almost like claws. "You've weathered worse."_

_They strode closer, the cape obscuring his vision. The executor's sword clattered to the ground as they reached out and dropped it, grasping Jae's wrist and dragging him forwards. Their gloves brushed against his skin, fingers tightening around his arm with sudden vicious force. With their other hand, they drove the stakes into his arm -- and this, he noted, with a certain clean, practised efficiency, spearing him through once at the elbow, once at the upper arm, and once at the shoulder, before ramming each further in with the heel of their hand._

_Only dimly, he registered the stakes sliding in through the joints of his elbow and shoulder; only dimly, he registered the brush of the limiting talismans against his sleeve. His entire arm burned, much more than it had any right to._

_Jae opened his mouth to spit a command, a verbal anchor for the magic. He heard, as though from a great distance, a wet, keening cry, the scream of an injured animal--_

_Oh. How curious. It was coming from himself._

_Seized by a wild, frenzied -- what was it? Fear? Anger? -- sensation, he brought the wrist of his good hand up to his mouth and bit down on the meat of his hand, on the fleshy base of his thumb. The sound cut off, abruptly; he shook from the effort of keeping silent, sand and grit scraping against his teeth. Somewhere, above him, the masked executor made a dispassionate sound._

_"Hey. Long time no see," the fox-masked person said, as though they were old acquaintances who'd only just bumped into each other on the street. They were probably using a voice modulator of some kind -- Jae couldn't tell whether the speaker was male, or female. They loomed over him, holding a last stake -- this, promptly driven through the back of his hand, right between his knuckles._

_"Did you miss me?" the masked figure asked him; the effect was worse for the flat, toneless cadence of their voice, devoid of any emotion._

_Jae stared first at his hand, and then, slowly, up at the masked figure. He knew there was no point trying to pull himself free -- at best, he might wind up with a stake through the throat for all his efforts. "Who--"_

_The figure knelt, until they were almost eye-to-eye. This close, there was no mistaking it -- the hazel eyes, the broken mask, the familiarity with which the figure nudged his chin upwards with their index finger._

_They leaned forwards, tipping their own mask back, just enough for Jae to see the lower half of their face. "Come now. There's no need to hide your face from me."_

_Gently, they pulled his mask off. Jae blinked a little, breathing in sharply -- that was the thing about the masks; they'd always felt too tight and close around his face, warm and stifling after hours of wear._

_The executor sighed -- or let out a breath they'd been holding, Jae didn't know. "Look at you," they said, tilting his face slightly to the side. "You look just the same as you did, all those years ago."_

_"I should hope so," Jae said through his teeth. "Where've you been, all this time?"_

_"Same shamelessly stupid look on your face. Likewise," the executor added softly, "you don't need to ask questions like that. Is that any way to greet an old friend?"_

_"Friend?" Jae laughed; it sounded almost hysterical, even to his own ears. He'd thought of the owner of the broken mask as more than a friend -- not that it mattered now, not that it had mattered for the past hundred years. Not that it had ever stopped mattering._

_The executor raised their hand -- and Jae realised that, somewhere along the way, they'd retrieved their sword, with its unusual prong rising from the hilt, parallel to the blade. He'd seen a sword with a swordbreaker like taht before, though it didn't look like how he remembered. The metal was dull and dark, marked faintly with arrays that shifted and squirmed like water, like worms in mud. Slowly, deliberately, the executor levelled the sword at him._

_"Choe," Jae began and stopped, uncertain._

_"I shouldn't need to ask you whether you know why we're here, or why I'm doing this." Choe cocked their head to the side; Jae could barely see the light of their eyes from the shadow of the mask._

_Jae thought about reaching into the Root, summoning a part, any part, of Muhandae -- and felt nothing. As though sensing his discomfort, Choe leaned closer, resting their hand on Jae's -- but making sure to avoid the stake._

_"What did you do to me," Jae snarled, momentarily forgetting the pain and the shock of familiarity._

_Choe's hand brushed against the stake; locking eyes with Jae, they curled their fingers around the handle, and slowly pushed it further in._

_Jae clamped his back teeth together, breathing out fast and shallow through his nose. With his free hand, he reached for Choe's lapels, and dragged them closer to him. "What did you do?" he repeated._

_Choe's eyes slid to the side, then back to him. "Cut you off," was all they said, in their curiously modulated, layered voice. "From the Root."_

Where are you?

_Lysander's voice cut through his thoughts, interrupting the shrill whine of pain that was hammering in Jae's temples._ Did you engage them?

I didn't have a choice,  _Jae replied._ Be careful. I don't know what they did, or what they're capable of, I can't explain it. They've disabled my magic.

What?

I can't activate Muhandae. 

Hold your position. I'm on my way.

_Jae laughed out loud, and derived some tiny portion of satisfaction at Choe's eyes narrowing in consternation._ Uh, yeah, about that. I'm in a bit of a pinch. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere.

_Out of the corner of his eye, Jae saw Choe move -- they were picking up their sword, adjusting their grip on the handle. "I've waited a long time to get to get to this point," Choe said; their shadow stretched across Jae, blocking out the moon._

_"I can imagine," Jae replied. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the cramp in his leg. "So ... get on with it, I guess."_

_That seemed to throw Choe off guard. "What?"_

_"We both know why you're here. Why you took the trouble of luring me here, and why I followed what was clearly bait from the start. We both know what we're here for."_

_"And yet you came?"_

_Jae smiled. Or at least, he tried to; it felt more like a pained grimace than anything else. "I suspected ... something, I guess. Old, dead leads don't start surfacing this long down the line."_

_Choe laughed. With the hand that wasn't holding the sword, they reached towards their mask. "Maybe you did learn something in the past century. The old Jang Jae Young, he wouldn't have thought that way. Success breeds complacency, after all."_

_"Yeah, well. A lot of things died that night, let's put it that way."_

_Choe's hand holding the sword twitched, bringing it dangerously close to Jae's head. "You don't really have any place talking to me about things that died," they said, and wrenched off the mask._

_For a moment, Jae could only stare -- there had been many possibilities for Choe's identity running through his mind, and this was the last one that had crossed his thoughts. She had the face of a person long dead; the face of a person he hadn't seen for well over a hundred years. She gazed levelly back at him, the mask perched on the top of her head; with a gloved thumb, she flicked aside the mouthpiece and voice modulator, hooked to her communications set._

_"You should be dead."_

_"Dead?" Choe laughed, holding the mask down so it wouldn't slip off. Her voice was just like how Jae remembered, calm and even but without the any of the playfulness she’d had before. "Are you sure about that?"_

_"I know what I saw."_

_As suddenly as she started, Choe stopped laughing. "You're right," she said, softer now. "Well, kudos to you for remembering, I guess. How long was it, until you stopped burying your head in the sand? How long was it, until you just decided you could get up and move on, forget everything that happened?"_

_"I never forgot," Jae said, but the sentence never really made it out, the words shriveling at the back of this throat._

_Choe's features were shifting, changing -- a subtle thing, seamless as a karma demon's transformation. Jae sat back heavily, forgetting the stakes embedded down the length of his arm, forgetting the pronged sword inscribed with its writhing, pulsing schematics. "Han Byeol."_

_"Nice of you to remember," Han Byeol said, quieter now. "And here I was, thinking you'd forgotten about us."_

_"I could never." Jae swallowed, lifting his head higher as Han Byeol advanced towards him, sword-point dragging against the ground. "I could never forget what she ... her ... what she did for me. I just ... I thought you both--"_

_"Sorry to disappoint." Han Byeol drew level with him; the tips of his boots brushed against Jae's fingers. In a motion too quick and violent for Jae to track, he plunged the sword down, just between Jae's thumb and forefinger._

_The chains wrapped around the hilt and handle clinked against the blade, slackening slightly when Han Byeol released the sword._

_Slowly, deliberately, he bent down, and pulled out the stake in Jae's hand, tossing it unceremoniously into the dark. The rest of the stakes followed -- and still Jae remained where he was, motionless, staring down at his bloody hand._

_"Why?"_

_"You know why." Han Byeol straightened, and took a step back, pulling the sword out of the ground with a vicious tug. He held it under Jae’s chin, tilting his head back. "Stand up."_

_Jae stared up at him, trying to track his movements. "What?"_

_"You heard me. Get up. Stand and fight. We'll do this the proper way. You may not be able to summon your weapons, but at the very least, you can do something." Han Byeol flicked his wrist carelessly, pointing the sword at Jae. "Go on, I'm giving you a chance. She wouldn't have wanted me to just go and chop off your head, even if it's well within my rights to. Well, not that I would, I suppose, given what went into preserving your sorry hide."_

_"You can have it."_

_Han Byeol paused, tilting his head to the side, as though considering whether to ask the question. "What do you -- whatever. It doesn't matter. You have a gun, don't you?" He laughed, harsh and unfeeling. "In the end, you still have the edge, anyway. I mean, they do say, never bring a sword to a gun fight. Gotta make this fair, even with your handicap."_

_Jae slid backwards, landing heavily. He could still taste his own blood in his mouth, a sticky, metallic film over his teeth. "No."_

_If anything, that seemed to anger Han Byeol even more. "No?" he repeated, almost incredulous. "What do you mean, no?"_

_"You heard me. This is what you want, isn't it? Closure? Killing me, after everything I cost you, and your sister, and your family?"_

_Han Byeol took a step back, and then another. "No."_

_Jae tried to laugh. "What do you mean, no?" he echoed, and attempted to stand. "You have me where you want me, and I'm where I want to be. Where I've been waiting to be, for the past hundred years. It was only a matter of time." His hand shook when he reached out, gingerly curling his fingers around the end of Han Byeol's sword. The edge nicked his fingers, barely even that deep -- and it was still nothing, compared to the biting, searing sting from the stakes. "Go on. What're you waiting for?"_

_Before either of them could react, something bright and metallic flew through the air, narrowly avoiding the side of Jae's head, and almost catching Han Byeol's on the knee; something resembling a knife, crude and inelegant in its hurried composition, lodged in the rubble behind Han Byeol. Then, the knife seemed to melt, resolving into a puddle of metal that retraced its trajectory, back towards its caster. Han Byeol reared aside to avoid it, letting Jae go -- flicking the mask back down over his face as he skidded back, nimble and light-footed on the loose sand and gravel._

_Lysander lurched heavily out of the scrubby undergrowth, mask slightly askew, spitting dust and pine needles out of his mouth. His right arm was bristling with stakes, embedded from upper arm to wrist, his prosthetic oozing streams of coolant and gobbets of liquid metal, from where his various hidden carrying tubes had been damaged._

_The mass of almost-liquid metal stopped, hovering in a lazy arc by Lysander's shoulder; it reshaped itself smoothly into a replica of the other six or so shortswords Lysander had also forged, the blades wreathing his head like a particularly unwelcoming halo. His coat was rumpled, covered in bits of crushed grass and dirt; he raked a hand through his hair, brushing out twigs and chips of stone._

_Jae tried to laugh. "My hero. How nice of you to drop in. Can you come back later? You're kinda interrupting something."_

_"Shut up, I've heard enough from you," Lysander said tersely, his eyes still fixed on Han Byeol. "This your informant?"_

_"I guess you could say that," Han Byeol said, adjusting the mask slightly so that it was fully covering his face once more. "I'm sorry for getting you involved. I hadn't counted on Jang Jae Young bringing reinforcement of any kind. Planning, forethought ..." Han Byeol paused. "It's not his style."_

_"I know," Lysander said. He didn't sound terribly impressed -- or amused, for that matter. "Tell me something I don't know."_

_"If it's all the same to you, I have some unfinished business to attend to, with Jang Jae Young. Perhaps--?"_

_"Ah." Lysander leaned back slightly on one foot; he still had his hands in his pockets, his posture deceptively loose and nonchalant. "I'm afraid I can't do that."_

_"I guessed as much."_

_Han Byeol made jerked his chin at Lysander, a careless gesture. "You're in much better shape than Jae Young is," he said, conversational. "I knew you were the one to watch out for."_

_Lysander raised his right arm slightly, as though inspecting it. "What, this?" he asked, and yanked out one of the stakes. The metal of his arm groaned and creaked in protest. "I'm not actually right-handed. Nice trick you got, though. I'm surprised more people haven't invested in it."_

_He dropped the stake; it landed with a clang that sounded like a gunshot in the silence. "Too much effort to prepare," Han Byeol said, still not taking his eyes off Lysander. "Some people think too much about cost and diminishing rewards. That, and most people use actual, physical weapons. Not many people you'd be able to downright disable with these little things."_

_"Lucky you, then," Lysander said; though minute, Jae could see the slight tremour in his fingertips, in the way the way his swords were wavering in shape. Despite the number of stakes in his arm, he was still doing a lot better than Jae in the fact that he was still able to cast and use his magic, shaky or not. "Unlucky us, in this case."_

_"Lucky me," Han Byeol agreed._

_Lysander moved first, sent the first of the shortswords hurtling towards Han Byeol. He parried the first few, catching one between the prongs of his sword; the others he simply avoided, ducking under and between their arcs. Lysander curled his fingers into claws and jerked his arm back, calling the metal towards him._

_Jae saw the first dagger shoot backwards, grazing the side of Han Byeol's upper arm, then the second almost catch against the a pointed ear of the fox mask, nearly dislodging it. The third missed its mark by a wide margin, its angle far too erratic, and the fourth hit him somewhere in the back, between the ribs; Han Byeol let his knees fold, avoiding the fifth, and the sixth lodged itself in the back of his shoulder, just missing the plane of his shoulderblade._

_Han Byeol staggered a little, losing his balance, tilting towards Lysander; at the last moment he twisted back, levering himself upright with his sword, plunged into the earth and rubble. Lysander made a short, beckoning gesture, sharp and violent, and the daggers seemed to lose their form, metal sloughing loose and liquid towards him. It reshaped itself into something resembling a sword, the blade twisted and snaking, the guard curved around his hand._

_The time, it was Lysander who advanced towards Han Byeol, his steps wary, measured. He raised the sword--_

_"Stop," Jae wheezed out. Lysander's hand twitched slightly, but did not otherwise move. "Put that down, so help me."_

_"No," Lysander said, but made no attempt to do otherwise. "Shut up. You've said and done enough tonight."_

_"You said you understood where I was coming from." Jae paused, watching Lysander carefully. "So just ... give me this one thing, if nothing else. Stay out of it."_

_Out of the corner of his eye, Jae saw a blur of movement -- Han Byeol had gotten to his feet and pulled out another stake, throwing it at Lysander. Lysander drew back with a snarl, catching the stake; it embedded itself into the palm of his right hand, tip driving through the surface of his prosthetic. Without a break in motion, Han Byeol had retrieved his sword and retreated, back into the shadows of the ruins._

_Lysander stood stock-still for several seconds, breathing hard, before he straightened, allowing his shoulders to lower slightly. Stiffly, he lowered his arm, and pulled the stake out of his palm, slipping it into one of the many pockets of his greatcoat. He walked, unbalanced and heavy-footed towards Jae, and stuck out his good hand. "C'mon," he said, and pulled Jae upright. "Let's go. Can you walk?"_

_"I only got skewered through the arm," Jae snapped, recovering a little from his stunned silence. "Not the legs. I'm not that incapacitated." As if to prove his point, he made a valiant attempt to jump to his feet -- and almost fell over. Lysander grabbed him by his good elbow, steadying him._

_"Hm. Could've fooled me."_

_"Ha, ha, very funny. How're you feeling?"_

_Lysander made a noncommittal sound. "Could be worse."_

_Jae tried to sneer, and managed a kind of spasming wince instead. "Show-off."_

_"Let me rephrase, then: I could be like you."_

_"Ow, savage." Jae sighed, rubbing his eyes. "But regrettably true. You win this one."_

_Despite his earlier words, Jae found himself leaning a little more heavily against Lysander than he would've liked; the old ache in his knee was acting up. Thankfully, Lysander chose not to comment on it this time around. Like a pair of shambling invalids,  they shuffled back towards the car, in what had to be the most ungainly, pitiful excuse of a three-legged race Jae ever had the misfortune to be part of. The car's signal lights flashed once, twice, amber in the dark when Lysander unlocked it. He stomped over to the backseat and opened the door, and -- with some difficulty, given how he was still supporting Jae -- stripped off his greatcoat, before rather unceremoniously dumping both Jae and the coat onto the upholstery, slamming the door shut and circling around in front of the car._

_He sat down heavily in the driver's seat, ripped off his mask, then flicked on the dome light. His hair was slicked with sweat despite the cold weather outside, and there was a small cut across the corner of his jaw, where there was a gap in his mask. He tore off his gloves with his teeth, then turned in his seat to gave Jae a once-over, eyebrows knitted together in consternation. "You look like shit."_

_"Thanks." Jae levered himself into a sitting position and leaned precariously forward, angling the rearview mirror towards himself. He grimaced -- Lysander was very much right, he looked like a wreck. His face was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, the skin almost ashen, and pale from dust -- and blood loss. A bruise was purpling along the side of his temple, and there were several small, fine cuts on his face he must have somehow procured along the way, during his roll in the rubble. "Wow, gross. I hate it when you're right." He paused, prodding a little bit at a ridge of thin cuts and scrapes near the side of his neck. "So ... I guess a nice sit-down dinner is a little bit out of the question tonight?"_

_Lysander turned around to stare at him. "I'm not taking you anywhere looking like that."_

_Jae had to laugh; between the two of them, they looked decidedly terrible. It'd be a miracle if the hotel even let them back into the lobby, given their current state; it seemed far more likely for them to be arrested at the very least. "Yeah, and you're not taking anyone anywhere looking like that, either. Okay, fine, no nice sit-down dinner. Drive-thru? I won't say no to some chicken nuggets. It's a chicken nuggets and soft serve kinda night." He rubbed his jaw, disparaging._

_"If we're lucky," Lysander conceded._

_"I want chicken tenders. I_  feel _tenderised."_ Jae _heard the sound of fabric ripping -- and dragged his eyes off his reflection to see Lysander tearing up his scarf. "What're you doing?"_

_"I paid for the rental car insurance," Lysander said through his teeth, slightly indistinct through the scraps of his scarf. "But I'm pretty sure the insurance doesn't cover seat re-upholstery on account of being bled on."_

_"Oh. Right." Jae smiled weakly. In the faint reflection against the car window, his teeth were set together in a ghastly approximation of grin. He quickly stopped. In the front seat, Lysander had rolled up his sleeves and was feeling up the side of his prosthetic arm, looking thoughtful._

_"Uhhh ... what're you doing?"_

_Lysander didn't deign to reply, and instead dug his nails into a groove near his elbow, before pulling out what looked like a long, thin metal spike._

_"And what the hell is that?" Jae demanded, trying to push himself upright for a better look. "Haven't you had enough of long pointy things that can skewer you? In case you haven't noticed, your right arm still looks like it's trying to dress up for Halloween without you. Maybe as a novelty pincushion or a porcupine."_

_Lysander held up the spike, angling it in the dome light. "Lockpick," he supplied helpfully; he looked more than a little pleased at himself -- no doubt at his foresight, for having a lockpick, of all things, hidden on his arm that was already full of various other concealed weapons._

_"... do I want to ask why do you have a lockpick up your elbow?"_

_"Why not?" Lysander asked, sounding genuinely perplexed. "Don't you? What if you have locks that need picking? Places you shouldn't be going, but need to get into?"_

_"I usually just, I dunno. Shoot 'em? Jump the fence? Find another way in? Smash whatever needs unlocking against the floor and hope it breaks?"_

_"Typical," Lysander said. Before Jae could respond or say anything else, Lysander jabbed the spike into his left forearm, drawing blood. Jae squawked in protest. "What the fuck are you doing?! You didn't have enough of being made into a human pincushion? Stop, oh my god, what are you doing."_

_Lysander ignored him, jabbing the spike in deeper and twisting it for good measure, before pulling it out and pushing it in at another point a few centimetres from the first. "Array," he said as he stretched out his shredded scarf onto the dashboard, trying to straighten and flatten it out as best as he could. "We need to do something about your arm."_

_"My arm is fine, thank you very much," Jae snapped, trying to inch away and possibly melt into the backseat. He clutched his arm against his chest, ignoring the way the flesh stung against his grimy, gritty hand. With his luck, he'd probably end up with an infection. "It's not like I haven't had things stabbed into me before."_

_"I don't know what sort of magic your friend uses, but it's not typical stuff."_

_"Hey, back up a second there. Let me get one thing clear: not my friend."_

_"Sure, whatever." Lysander rummaged in his pocket, tossing the stake he'd pulled out of his palm onto the passenger seat. He held up the talisman secured to the end, the paper now rather crumpled and worse for wear. "See that? It's a modified limiting array. And see that?" He jabbed his bloodstained lockpick at the body of the stake, making sure not to touch it with his bare hands. "Spelled metal. Whatever it is, it's gone and fucked your systems up."_

_Jae burst out in a a fit of wild and nervous laughter. "Oh, great, just another one for the list of fuckups tonight, then. It just keeps getting better. And why the blood magic?"_

_Lysander didn't reply immediately, preoccupied as he was with completing the array he was working on. The tip of the metal spike caught and dragged against the scarf as Lysander traced an uneven, bloody line over the fabric. "Blood begets blood," he said between his teeth, as he wrote long, scratchy phrases for restoration and recovery in the old script. Jae could barely read it at the best of times, let alone write it; the construction of arrays and schematics had never been his strong suit. "I don't quite have the right skillset needed to purge your ... friend's magic out of you." He used the word_ friend  _delicately, almost a question -- and not one Jae felt like answering, just yet. "This will have to suffice, at least for now. Don't worry. I'm not actually going to get it on you."_

_Here, he glanced back, cracking a thin smile. "I don't quite enjoy the thought of having any form of blood covenant with you, no matter how temporary. No offence."_

_"Yeah, yeah, the feeling's mutual. More to the point, blood magic is pretty fine an art on its own," Jae said, leaning back in the seat. The scrape of the makeshift nib against the dashboard console was surprisingly soothing. "Not everyone knows stuff like that. Hell, I don't. Why do you know how to use it?"_

_He asked the question, even though he knew full well that no answer was forthcoming. Lysander stopped to admire his handiwork, then blew over the schematic to dry  and seal it. "Better question," Jae said, massaging his temples. His thumb brushed against the bruise and he flinched, poking at the tender skin. "You know some pretty questionable stuff. Not everyone is familiar with time or space-sensitive summoning schematics, with blood magic, with creating and using weapons like Muhandae and Xirang. Not everyone can sustain a demon anywhere near the strength of a Heruka, using themselves as a living conduit to the Naraka."_

_Lysander remained stonily silent. He stretched out a corner of the makeshift bandage, where he'd left a gap in the array, and fished out a signet ring from one of his coat-pockets. This, he pushed against the small gouge in his forearm, before pressing against the gap in the array. The array flared briefly, a dull reddish glint that marked the interlocking segments as complete, before fading, disappearing into the fabric. Satisfied, Lysander gestured impatiently for his arm and Jae held it out, trembling a little from the pain._

_"Say," Jae began, wincing a little when Lysander tugged a bit too hard, "why are you doing this, anyway?"_

_Lysander gave him an odd look, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. "What do you mean?"_

_"You know why. Since when did you give a shit? Half the time I feel like you want to throw me a lot further than you can trust me, and the only thing stopping you is your sister."_

_In silence, Lysander wrapped the shredded remains of his scarf around Jae's arm, pressing down slightly to staunch the bleeding. Once satisfied, he started the engine, but made no move to start driving. Instead, he reached up -- and turned off the dome light. The car idled in the dark, the silence broken only by the steady hum of its engine._

_"Because we're ... friends, I guess," Lysander said, not sounding entirely convinced himself. "Even if you like making yourself a royal pain in the ass."_

_Jae stifled a cackle. "Friends? Oh, man, I'm not sure whether to be flattered that you think so, or hysterical because you've lumped yourself in the same category as my friendly informant."_

_"Mind if I ask you something?" Lysander said, interrupting him mid-laugh._

_He squinted at Lysander, guarded. "Uh. Sure? Since when did you ask my permission to ask questions?"_

_"You had your gun," Lysander said without preamble. He reached over the seat and tugged at the sleeve of his coat, pulling it to drape over Jae."Muhandae or no. Why didn't you shoot?"_

_Jae laughed again, this time the sound forced and choked at the back of his throat. "I'm a lousy shot."_

_"Bullshit."_

_The silence pressed against Jae's ears, heavy and oppressive. It almost seemed to have a sound of its own, a shrill, static whine. "Why didn't you?"_

_Lysander stretched out one arm, resting it over the steering wheel. The stakes in his arm bumped against the front windshield and the odometer display. "Because this isn't my score to settle," he replied._

_Neither of them said anything for several moments. For a while, Lysander preoccupied himself with coaxing a substantial amount of liquid metal back into several carrying tubes he retrieved from another briefcase in the backseat; Jae tried to wedge himself into a more comfortable position, before realising he still had his gun holder strapped in place, wedged between his injured arm and ribs._

_After what felt like hours, Lysander adjusted the rearview mirror -- not that it made much difference to Jae, because he still ended up being able to see himself, and just how well the bruise on his head was getting along. It took a few tries for Lysander to start the engine; even once he got that sorted, he idled for a while longer as he set about fiddling with the GPS. The screen lit up, lending both their faces a ghostly blue cast._

Location not found.

_Unperturbed, Lysander maneuvred the car into a three-point turn and set off, retracing their route. The car lurched and groaned as it rolled over bits of rubble and scattered rock. On-screen, the location indicator blinked and flashed, the tiny beacon lost amidst blank space._

Attempting to re-route ...

_Jae rolled down the window slightly and leaned his head against the glass, resting his cheek on the cold pane. The wind howled as the car tore through the dark, ill-kept road, buffeting Jae's hair._

Attempting to re-route ...

_Lysander drove fast, ignoring whatever speed limits were imposed on shitty rural roads that didn't seem to exist on any maps. The static of the radio -- and the melancholy wailing of the wind -- filled the silence between them. Somewhere along the way, Jae fell into a fitful and restless sleep, and dreamt of blank, featureless white masks, their empty eyeholes gazing at him. He dreamt of falling through the air, into a field of swords and stakes, arranged in the shape of a schematic or array of some description. He couldn't make out the words, or the seals; he didn't need to see it to know it was the groundwork for a curse, for the foundation of a Hell's Gate._

_He jerked awake moments after he landed on a line of stakes, watching as they punched through his throat and chest, rising through the arc of his ribs. The last few shreds of the dream clung stubbornly to him; in his dream, he coughed and choked and spat out clumps of reddish foam; he could hear the rattling wheeze of his own breath, whistling through punctured lungs._

_For a wild, dizzying moment, he struggled against the weight of Lysander's coat, before remembering what it was, and where he was. Heart pounding, he sat very still, blinking rain out of his eyes. A wave of nausea washed over him; shaking, he stretched over to thump the back of Lysander's headrest with the flat of his hand. "Pull over," he croaked. "Pull over now!"_

_The car veered to the side, tyres skidding over the slick road; they came to a stop at the verge and Jae stumbled out, almost falling over the guardrails. He doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the side of the road -- not that there was much; he hadn't eaten anything since he'd arrived, apart from the vending machine coffee, and stealing Lysander's drink. The tonic water tasted bitter and acrid; not that much different than it did going down, a thought he would keep to himself for now._

_His legs were shaking, so he tried to support himself against the guardrail instead; his arms were also shaking, his left unable to even support his weight. He went back to the car and threw himself back into the seat, then drew Lysander's coat around himself, shivering. It was still warm, comfortingly thick against his shoulders -- even if it smelt faintly of crushed shrubbery and metal._

_"All good to go?" Lysander asked. His elbow nudged the side of a water bottle he'd placed against the centre console._

_"Yeah, m'fine. Got a bit carsick," Jae lied, and grabbed the bottle. To his relief, Lysander did not ask further. They moved off again, slightly slower than before._

_The front wipers slid rhythmically across the windshield, dragging slightly against the glass. Jae crushed the now-empty water bottle and rolled his window up, before sliding lower in the seat, stretching out across the width of the car._

_Somewhere along the way, they returned to a range the radio could pick up; the station was tuned to a classical channel, the music soft and soothing against Jae's ears. He slept._

* * *

He stayed submerged in the pool for as long as he could stand it, until it felt like his lungs were going to burst. For a brief, panicked instant he hung there, weightless in the water, momentarily forgetting how to move. When he resurfaced and broke through the water there were dark, blurry spots at the edge of his vision, blooming wherever he looked.

Lysander was sitting on one of the deckchairs, face illuminated by the pale blue glow of his phone screen. He seemed to have changed on the way back, now wearing a dark blue short-sleeved button-up printed with tiny white anchors, over Bermuda shorts. More noticeably, he seemed to have repaired his prosthetic along the way, now sporting a model made of some darker, matte material, vented along the side.

Jae pushed his hair out of his face and waded closer to the edge of the pool. The sight of Lysander’s unusually summer-appropriate getup made Jae want to laugh; for a person that wore mainly suits in various shares of black, navy, or grey, the outfit was downright festive.

“Woah there,” Jae said by way of greeting, trying to sound casual. He ducked under the water again, then broke the surface slowly; the air smelled sharp and cool and fresh, the vivid tang of ozone strong in the wind. The storm was coming, closer than ever. “Where’s the festival?” Jae asked.

Lysander didn’t even glance up. “What festival?” he asked. And then, “you look like a drowned rat.”

Jae snorted, sinking back low enough to blow bubbles in the water. “Like you’re one to talk. The summer festival, y’know, because you look dressed to kill with that fancy getup.”

“Oh.” Lysander frowned slightly, seemingly only just noticing his patterned shirt. “At the park, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” Jae bent his knees slightly, until the water was lapping against his chin. A stiff breeze had just picked up; perhaps he’d wait until he got out of the water. “I think I can count the number of times I've seen you in shorts with one hand. I’m not sure how to feel about this.”

"What do you mean?"

Jae lifted a finger out of the water to point. "Your legs. I can see them." 

Lysander shut his eyes and opened them, very slowly. “Yes. And? They're my legs. I don't care how you feel about my legs."

“Your legs look like what I’d expect fish legs to look like,” Jae continued. Lysander glanced up from his screen at last. “What?”

“Your legs.” Jae paused. “Fish legs.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“So pale they almost glow in the dark. When was the last time they saw the light of day? You sure they're not radioactive?”

Lysander shifted slightly to scrutinise his knees and calves, seemingly dissatisfied at Jae's evaluation of them. “You shut up,” he said, very eloquently, and crossed his ankles. “My legs--“

“Your fine, fine legs.”

“My fine, fine--“

“Pasty,” Jae added, gleefully.

Lysander made an impatient wave of his hand. “Yes, whatever. My fine, fine, pasty legs aside, how are you feeling now?”

“I’m glad you’re comfortable enough with yourself to admit that you have fine, fine, pasty legs.” Jae leaned over the edge of the pool, resting his chin on his arms. “You got your arm fixed up already? I didn’t know many people worked after hours.”

“Wasn't too hard, I had an older model stashed ... around. It was a matter of hooking it up myself,” Lysander said, and patted his forearm almost fondly. “Never hurts to keep spares of important items wherever you go. Haven't used this rig for a while, but it was a good one."

“Spares,” Jae echoed. “You weirdo, most people have a spare change of clothes in case of lost luggage, not spare cybernetics. You’re a nutcase. How many tubes does this one house? How many spare daggers and lockpicks and, I don't know, shoehorns? A kazoo?”

“I'm a well-prepared nutcase to you.” Lysander swiped something across his screen; if Jae didn't know him better, he could almost have sworn Lysander sounded pleased. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Being a nutcase of any description is a bad thing,” Jae said, and hauled himself out of the pool. Too late, he remembered his arm; it shook and almost buckled beneath his weight, sending him half-tumbling towards the poolside. "Shit, fuck, ow, why, it's so cold. It's summer."

Lysander snorted and handed Jae a towel, but didn’t bother to move from his seat. Jae threw himself down on the next deckchair over and leaned back, the towel wrapped around his shoulders. It smelled of cleaning chemicals, and, more faintly the sun. “Say something to make me feel better.”

“I bought food,” Lysander said. He reached to the side and tossed a water bottle at Jae, before twisting open the cap of his own.

"Ohh, now we're talking. Hell yeah, talk dirty to me."

Lysander didn't quite choke, but it was a close one. "I bought you food that's as greasy and salty and unhealthy as your needy little heart requires," he continued. "I bought snacks as well. And drinks. But now I'm tempted to get them refunded. I don't have to put up with your harassment."

"Y'know, I take it back."

"... take what back?"

"Take it back about you being Prince Charmless. You're not too bad. Keep it up, and they'll be flocking to you in droves. The way to the heart is through the stomach, after all. And you've won my heart." Jae batted his lashes. "Can you hear it, from all the way over here? Going  _badump, badump_ , head over heels in friend-love because you bought me food at long last?"

The stiff and frosty silence that ensued was, probably, an excellent indicator of what Lysander's opinion on the matter was. Jae pressed the cold, unopened bottle against his forehead. "... so, where's the food?"

"Upstairs." Lysander got to his feet; overhead, the thunder rumbled more insistently, closer this time. Lightning lanced through the sky, and for a brief, brilliant moment he was haloed by pale purple-white fire. "Let's go. I didn't save your ass from murderous grudge-holders just for you to get cooked like a pig in a blanket." He cracked something resembling a smile. "Or, in your case, a weasel in a towel."

.

They alighted the elevator in silence and, likewise, ascended to the top floors in silence. Jae shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying not to drip too conspicuously onto the granite flooring. Tactfully, Lysander chose not to comment on Jae's current resemblance to a towel-draped cryptid of some description, and chose to studiously read one of the posters on the wall. There was some sort of weekend buffet deal on; Jae felt a vague sense of loss that they wouldn't be around to take advantage of the deal.

His eyes drifted slightly to the side. Lysander's hair was still damp from his shower, tied in a loose knot at the base of his neck against the uneven collar of his shirt. The dark fabric was almost black from the water. Jae reached out and straightened out the collar, tugging it down into place. Lysander raised his eyebrows.

"It was bothering me." Jae looked away first, and jabbed impatiently at their floor number. "It's only acceptable when I'm the one that's out of sorts. It's as weird as seeing you not wearing a suit, like ... like the world has suddenly gone off-balance, but only in a small and ... uh, what's the world. Insidious? A small and insidious way. I don't like it. Like, I've already had enough of my world being shaken up tonight, let's not add to that pile of bullshit."

"... right."

Thankfully, Lysander didn't choose to press the matter. The elevator came to a stop and he led the way out, retracing their steps from earlier. Jae sidled into the room, readjusting his towels. "Give me five? Gotta make myself presentable. Not for you," he added before Lysander could even think about opening his mouth. "I mean, for the food."

Lysander shrugged. "Do whatever you want."

At any other time, Jae would've taken it as an invitation to take his sweet time in the shower -- Lysander rarely, if ever, took too kindly to waiting around for other people, and it would've been far more fun to run a long and leisurely bath. Were he feeling up to the task, Jae would've thought to order some wine from room service, or champagne if he felt particularly infuriating. He tried to tell himself it was mostly hunger that was making him skip all his usual little methods of antagonising Lysander, and not anything else. 

Jae turned the faucet on as far as it would go, the water as hot as he could tolerate. Steam rose from the tub, fogging up the shower screen and the mirrors, until he could no longer see himself. Slowly, painfully, he unknotted the frayed, grimy end of the makeshift bandage from his arm and watched as it unraveled, curling to the bottom of the tub. He flinched when he attempted to wash the puncture wounds down his arm -- he could barely move his hand without aggravating the injury anew. The hot water brought his circulation up, the blood rising closer to the surface of his skin and flushing it an angry, splotchy red. Through the steam swirling around the shower, Jae watched the punctures start bleeding anew; it was a sensation that felt a lot like being scalded, his skin tingling and burning. 

There were bits of grass and fibre and concrete dust god only knew what else, caked onto the still-wet, shiny scabs on his skin. These, Jae prodded at, before trying to brush away the worst of the foreign matter. He stood in the shower for longer than he cared or intended to, staring down at the reddish water lapping against his feet. The water swirled and eddied around his ankles; with a start, Jae realised he'd been standing over the plughole, and slowly moved his foot. Water sloshed noisily against the sides of the tub, billowing trails of blood sucked down the drain. He shut off the taps.

By the time he emerged, Lysander had absconded to the balcony and seemed to be engrossed in observing some other ward in the city being viciously rained on. Somewhere along the way, he'd exchanged his shoes for a pair of hotel slippers.

"Oh, well, at least those don't accentuate the pastiness of your legs as much." Jae unceremoniously plonked himself down on the other patio chair, before readjusting the edges of his bathrobe. He followed Lysander's line of sight to the heavy downpour that was seemingly concentrated over a cluster of buildings. "Ha, fuck that place in particular. You think it'll head our way?"

"Yes." Lysander glanced over at him. "That was quick."

Jae stared at him for a few seconds, unsure whether he was being sarcastic or not. Judging by the expression of his face, he seemed to be genuine. Uncomfortable, Jae poked at the bounty clustered on the tiny table between them.

"Yeah, well, I'm starving. Nothing like a good shock to work up an appetite, as I always say." Jae reached for one of the bags of takeout on the table and opened it to find a large box of spicy fried chicken. "Holy shit, I take everything I ever said about you back. You're not too bad."

Lysander made a noise that could mean a variety of things, from assent to discontent. Jae decided not to think too much about it, and made to grab one of the takeout carriers.

"Hold it." Lysander said suddenly, and picked up another bag that'd been sitting next to him, hidden by his chair leg. "Before you get too excited. Give me your arm."

Jae froze, one hand poised over the opened container. His stomach chose that moment to give a loud and impatient rumble of impatience. "Um, why. You're not going to propose to me, are you? Because, as pleasant as you've been tonight, it's all a little too--"

"Oh, shut up. Do you fancy getting an infection?" Lysander brought out a small paper bag, and a roll of bandages from where he'd stashed it just out of Jae's line of sight. With great difficulty, he balanced a bottle of antiseptic on the table, on top of the already-precarious stack of food containers. "Arm."

Jae had long since resigned himself to the fact that there was no arguing with Lysander, particularly once he had that particular set to his face. He sighed, and rolled up the oversize bathrobe sleeve, then gingerly extended his arm.

Lysander made a low whistle between his teeth. "Your friend really made a fine kebab out of you," was the first thing out of his mouth.

Jae resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Thanks. Don't you just wanna eat me up."

"Not particularly." Lysander swabbed at the first puncture hole with antiseptic; Jae flinched, biting back a hiss. Lysander's touch was surprisingly light, his movements quick and practised and efficient.

They said nothing for the longest time. The distant rumble of thunder grew closer, the intervals between them shortening. A strong breeze was blowing towards them, bringing, with it, the scent of rain. Jae's arm stung from the antiseptic, though the burn remained, pulsing under his skin. Lysander placed gauze pads against the punctures, pressing down slightly.

"Those stakes," Jae began. Lysander let go of his hand, and unspooled a roll of bandages. His brows were drawn together in concentration, a section of hair tucked behind his ear. "What were they?"

Lysander held the edge of the bandage in place with his thumb, and started to wrap Jae's hand. "Like I said earlier, some sort of modified limiting array would be my best guess." His pale gaze slid, momentarily, towards Jae. "How should I know? I thought you'd know his tricks."

"Hey, some dogs can pick up new tricks," Jae said, defensive. "It's been a long time, he most certainly didn't have those tricks up his literal sleeve back then."

"Right." Lysander wound the bandages between Jae's fingers. "Nasty pieces of work, those."

"What d'you mean?"

"Your conduits." Lysander paused to tighten the bandages slightly, so they wouldn't slip. "They're ... I wouldn't say fried, but more ... singed. Scrambled."

"I would like scrambled eggs," Jae pointed out, mournful. "I need comfort food."

"Imagine," Lysander said, running his thumb over Jae's wristbone to flatten and smooth out the bandage. The motion was almost intimate; Jae felt the overwhelming urge to say something, but held his tongue. "Imagine, if you will. The magical conduits of your body is like your circulatory or nervous system. It's spread through your body, like electrical wiring. Are you still with me?"

"Yeah."

"Good." For once, there was no trace of irritation creasing Lysander's brow. "Sometimes, when there's too high a current, the wires might melt from the heat and energy. Short-circuits will happen. It's the same idea as what happened to you. Your own ... wires, so to speak, are accustomed to your own current, but at the same time you cannot channel too much magic yourself too quickly, because you can end up harming yourself that way. Likewise, if a foreign variable is introduced -- in this case, your friend's magic, your own systems do not know how to deal with this sudden and invasive power surge." With his index finger, Lysander traced the veins on the inside of Jae's wrist. "Did you wonder why your hand was feeling so uncomfortable and hot?"

Jae glanced down, noting, with a start, how reassuringly cool Lysander's hands felt against his skin. "Yeah."

"It's because of that. Your body can't cope. Your friend forced his own magic into you, and your systems are rejecting it, trying to purge it. In doing so, you've also increased your own output. It's quite devious, actually -- your friend has a good method. In addition to bringing his own magic in close enough proximity with an enemy's in order to harm them, he can make them injure themselves in their efforts to repair the damage, too. Beautiful and foolproof in its simplicity. I'd wager there's demon magic at play as well -- those stakes are, at their core, demon weapons as well."

"How do you know?"

"I got the chance to have a better look at the stakes when I was in the lab. The engravings are doubtless anchoring schematics. Mixing his own invasive magic, along with demon magic -- and then weaponising that against a magic-user ..." Lysander shook his head. "Your friend, whoever he is, is a talented person. Smart, too, to forge a weapon that works not only against witches, but thaumaturgists as well."

Jae bared his teeth. "You sound almost admiring of him."

"What can I say? I can appreciate innovation and fine handiwork."

"Moreover." Lysander looked up at the sound of Jae's voice, no longer light and joking. "You seem to know an awful lot about this."

Lysander straightened. "Are you doubting me?"

"No, I'm just ... I just have questions."

"Hm." Lysander continued with winding the bandages around Jae's arm. "I was always interested in the more theoretical side of things. Theory is the foundation to practise, after all."

"Right." Jae winced when Lysander tugged a bit too hard. "Ow, so, what's going to happen to me? Can I still use magic? Or will I be even more useless deadweight now?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Lysander sighed. "You're just infected. Your magical systems have been compromised, but I can hold back the infection for a while. That's what the blood magic was for, anyway. Your friend doesn't seem to have outright severed or overloaded your systems, so I'd wager he still has some residual fondness for you. Not enough to want to kill you -- though the same can't be said of me, given the number of holes he poked into me."

"You're fine, though." Jae pointed out. 

"I'm fine because there were no conduits in my arm to damage," Lysander said very patiently, with the air of explaining something very elementary to a slow child. "It's not my problem if he jumps to conclusions after seeing what hand I lead with. Still worked well enough in my favour. He might have wanted to kill me for interfering, but you, he wanted alive."

Jae snorted. "Oh. Great. That makes me feel so much better. And here I was, thinking my arm was about to fall off and we'd have to be cyborg arm buddies."

"Oh, no I don't think he was very interested in that."

"Right. Just, y'know, incapacitating me so I'd sit nice and still so it'd be much easier to chop my head off. Peachy! That's so much better." 

"Hmph," Lysander grunted, most eloquently. "Either way. You probably won't be casting anything, at least until they heal fully. Might need to get Lottie to take a look. Or Bel."

Jae groaned. "God, no, don't hand me over to Bel. She'll burn it right out of me, but probably also burn me in the process. I don't want to die."

"Could've fooled me."

Jae glanced sharply over. "What? What did you say?"

Lysander cleared his throat. "I said, then suck it up and stop complaining. You'll be fine, just give it time." Satisfied with his handiwork, he let Jae's arm go and started tidying up the remainder of the medical supplies. "It would probably be preferable to not get into your friend's path again soon, just saying."

"Gee, thanks. Where would I be without you and your stellar advice." Jae tried to bend his elbow, and found he couldn't. Instead, he settled for letting his arm hang over the side of the chair. He reached, one-handed, for his abandoned box of fried chicken, then held it out. "Chicken?" he offered with his mouth full.

"No, thanks. I already ate."

"You sure? Well, whatever. More for me, then." Jae flipped the lid back over, to have a better look at the packaging. "My favourite chain, too. Aw, I'm really so flattered. So you really do listen when I talk!"

Lysander leaned back in his seat. "Eat your damn chicken." 

"Yeah, yeah, no need to tell me twice. I was just trying to be nice." Jae crunched on a piece of chicken, then reached for one of the cans of beer he'd seen in the bag. "Beer and chicken," he sighed, "now this is comfort food."

Lysander didn't reply, nor did he say anything as Jae steadily worked his way through the chicken. This was summarily followed by a dozen spicy beef skewers; cheesy fried pork fillets; cold sweet potato noodles in smoked sesame oil; more noodles doused in a thick sauce of black bean and pork belly slivers; a few sheets of flattened fishcake in fried beancurd skins; curry omelette rice with a side of prawn cream croquettes; a large poutine topped with minced beef; savoury rice balls filled with spicy cod roe and pickled mountain greens; a tray of delightfully greasy enchiladas; chewy rice cake liberally doused in cheese and spicy sauce, and, finally, four lamb-stuffed samosas, blessedly more meat than potato. After a brief respite, Jae dug into dessert with wild abandon -- Lysander had bought him a large bowl of ice jelly topped with lime and dried wolfberries, a double portion of peanut and sesame-filled rice dumplings swimming in sweet red bean soup, hot sweet tofu custard, and an assortment of tapioca and glutinous rice balls on herbal jelly and shaved ice. It started to rain about halfway through the sweet potato noodles; the one-man feast had to momentarily be paused in favour of shifting the patio set as close to the balcony door as possible.

"I don't see why we have to stay outside," Jae complained after a while, leaning back to preserve the integrity of his red bean soup as a gust of wind blew sheets of rain almost horizontally in front of them. The pollution was notoriously bad in the region; he had no great or burning desire to have his dessert taste of acid rain. "My feet are getting wet." Thunder roared loudly at his words, seemingly in agreement. Jae thought he could hear the glass from several windows around them rattling.

Lysander had, at some point between the fishcake and the enchiladas, gone back inside and put on a bathrobe over his clothes to keep the worst of the rain out, looking even more incongruous than ever. Contrary to Jae's complaint, he looked positively content. "And then the room will smell of food for days, so, no, we're not going inside and you can live with your feet getting a bit wet."

"Hmm." Jae scraped up the last remnants of the red bean soup and set the takeaway container down. "That was good stuff, though. Thanks."

"Good lord." Lysander took a proper look at the stack of empty containers for the first time. "How did you eat all that? Did you really eat everything? Are you sure there's nothing left?"

"Hey, you bought all that stuff. What did you think, I wouldn't eat it?"

"Well, no," Lysander admitted, still looking somewhat in shock. "I thought you'd save some for later. Breakfast, or something. How did you even eat all that in one sitting? I was watching you the entire time, but I'm still not quite certain if it was my imagination or not.."

"You're questioning my ability to eat? How couldn't I?" Jae asked, gesturing at the empty containers. "I haven't eaten anything since I flew in, I was famished. And you know none of this would keep well, that mini-fridge is a joke and you don't even have a microwave to heat leftovers up with. Which, by the way, is a critical failing of a deluxe suite, if you ask me."

"I wasn't."

"What sort of deluxe accomodation won't have a kitchenette? Huh? Huh? What if I felt like a midnight snack? Instant noodles? Would I have to boil it in the coffee pot, like a Neanderthal? Do you want your coffee to taste like extra-spicy kimchi ramyun? Well, do you?! Unbelievable. Wait." Jae paused, squinting slightly at Lysander. "Were you hoping to share the food? Earlier ... were you ... perhaps ... playing coy?!"

Lysander sputtered, indignant. "No!"

 

"Hey, I know the whole _tsundere_ act is very appealing to some people, but frankly, it doesn't suit you. Maybe they might appeal to you, but acting like one doesn't really seem like your style."

"Shut up," Lysander snapped, looking furious. And uncomfortable. Furiously uncomfortable, Jae decided; it really made it really worth his while to rile Lysander up.

"If anything, maybe  _kuudere_ would suit you more, instead."

"What does that even mean?!"

"Ooh, well." Jae patted at the multitude of takeout bags and containers, hoping there was something he'd missed. "Just, y'know, popular tropes in romance games."

"Romance games," Lysander repeated, handling the phrase with the same awkward delicacy as he would a particularly venomous and ill-tempered snake. "Why."

Jae shrugged. "Because they're fun? I can hit you up with some recommendations, if you'd like."

"No! I have better things to do."

"Are you sure?" Jae asked, waggling his eyebrows as he drew out the last word. "There are even some where you can romance monsters, if that's your type of thing. Juuust saying. I know _aaaaall_ kinds of romance games. Games where you romance guys, or you romance girls, or both, or monsters, or all manners of gods and historical figures, or robots, or your alternate future self--"

" _No_ ," Lysander repeated, more forcefully than before. Then, seemingly only just realising what Jae just said, his mouth dropped open. "Your what? Why would you want to romance any form of yourself?"

"What, you haven't thought about it?"

"No," Lysander said again, more emphatically this time. "Clearly Bel's not giving you enough work, if that's what you think about. Tax season is coming up though, I'll make sure she loads you with more things to do."

Still snickering, Jae reached into one of the still-full bags and unearthed a can of grapefruit shochu. He tossed another at Lysander, who caught it but made no move to open it.

"Aw, chill out and try some of these with me. I'd start drinking now, if I were you." Jae lifted the tab slowly, the can hissing as it opened. "It's gonna be a while until I sort out just where exactly I want to start. And I think we'd both rather be drunk enough to not remember we had this conversation. We can agree on that much, right?"

"What am I agreeing to?" Lysander eyed him sidelong, still looking cautious.

Jae waggled his can. "Don't play hard-to-get with me, we both know why you're being so nice to me tonight. It's how it always is with us, isn't it? I piss you off on purpose, you get mad at me, we both declare we want nothing to do with each other. And yet here we are -- you offered to be a shoulder to cry on, and I'm seriously considering taking you up on the offer. And yet, I'm not nearly drunk enough to start unpacking the events of earlier this evening." He lifted the can and bumped it against Lysander's unopened one. "So, y'know. Bottoms up, crack open a cold one, we're drinking every single thing you brought back tonight -- and I mean it when I say _we_. Don't try to weasel out of this."

Lysander opened his can of shochu, scrutinising the label. "Maybe I shouldn't have bought all the fruity ones, if I knew you were going to make me drink them with you. I just bought what I thought you'd like."

"See? There's more of that side of you. The side that listens to other people, the side that likes making people happy. Anyway, what's wrong with the fruity drinks? They're always far stronger, you know. They come right outta left field and knock you on the ass before you know it. They're so sweet and tasty and you wanna keep drinking, then before you know it you're passed out on the floor in a casino bathroom, with a tiger glaring judgementally at you from the bathtub." He smirked at Lysander. "Not too far off from where we're at, really."

"I've tried these before," Lysander said. "I don't like them."

Jae jiggled his can, impatient. "Pffft. What's wrong with the fruity ones? They're delicious. You have no sense of enjoyment. And I know for a fact you're not one of those sad people who don't love themselves and only drink, god forbid, shitty beer or boring vintage wines. Don't you open your mouth and start lying to me," he added, "I've seen you drink all manners of stuff. Like that time you were knocking back Jaegerbombs with the rest of us, and then you made out with me because you were so smashed. That was fun."

"That was an isolated event," Lysander said with a completely straight face. Still, he tapped his can against Jae's and took a drink, gamely emptying the can in one go. The effect was mitigated somewhat by his making an expression that best resembled that of a cat that had only just discovered a deep and profound aversion to citrus fruit. Jae laughed. "Oh, fine, how about getting into the soju after this? Maybe that's more your cup of tea. Er, cup of booze. Whatever."

To his credit, Lysander didn't protest, nor did he try to press for details. They drank in a comfortable silence for what felt like a good half hour or so, steadily working their way through the drinks; to Jae's surprise, Lysander rather liked the melon shochu. As they drank, the storm continued to batter the city, rain occasionally gusting inwards towards them. At some point, they started on the soju, though not before another brief disagreement on why exactly they were still sitting on the balcony like fools risking electrocution.

"If I die after everything we've gone through tonight," Jae slurred, trying to point at Lysander's nose and failing, "it is all your fault."

Lysander leaned back, guiding Jae's finger away from where it'd come to a stop, dangerously close to his right eye. "Sure."

The storm abated slightly a little past two in the morning, carrying on as a dismal shower. The moon hung, distant and blurry in the sky, haloed by mist and cloud and smog. Jae slouched lower in his chair, feet sticking out before him. He'd long crossed the point of caring about wet feet; the delightfully fluffy hotel slippers were no longer fluffy and were instead rather more soggy than anything else. "Hey," he said, idly swishing his half-empty can back and forth, feeling the shochu slosh around inside, "y'know, I could never really understand you. Being all hung up about what happened with Eri and stuff. Care to explain a bit? Like, I feel like we're on the verge of a crossroads or something here, and I just wanna, I dunno, try and see things your way. Try and understand what makes you the grumpy, broody pain in the ass that you are. A bit of give and take, y'know. You tell me a bit about your issues, and I tell you a bit about mine. A bit like a nice business deal, no?"

If Lysander noticed the slight tremour in Jae's hands, or the nervous jiggling of his knee, he chose not to mention it. Jae hiccoughed, partly out of nerves -- god, how much had they drunk? A few cans of shochu, a few bottles of soju, surely it didn't add up to that much. As Jae squinted at the discarded drink cans and tried to remember how to count past six to tally them up, Lysander took a long, measured drink from his can and set it down. 

"I mean, things happen in our line of work. You lose limbs, you get injured, things happen." Jae ticked the points off on his fingers, midway through yet another attempt to count the cans. "Especially when you fight against someone who knows your patterns, and you know theirs. What was the big deal? And, uh, no offense, but I know what your sister did to get where she is. And, I mean." Jae held up his hands, but Lysander didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm not saying I'm judging. It's the way we all used to live. You live or you die by the sword, and some even more so than others. It was how the ascensions always happened back then, anyway. Someone was bound to try and knock her off the spot at least once. What's your damage?"

"It was never about the injuries." Lysander laced his fingers together on his lap, leaning back in his seat. "It was never about losing limbs, about things like that. Those are temporary discomforts. I knew what I was getting into when Y--" He froze, not quite meeting Jae's eyes. "... when Bel's schemes," he continued, slower now, "were still like scraggly little weeds clinging to the side of a cliff."

"Charming," Jae said drily.

"Ugly and misshapen and malnourished, but stubborn and determined to flourish, nonetheless," Lysander continued, as though Jae hadn't said anything. "She was prepared to make her wagers with her own blood, and so was I; we both knew we'd have to fight, tooth and nail, to get where we wanted to be, or die trying."

"Die trying," Jae echoed and laughed. "The fuck's wrong with you two? Was it always all or nothing with you? Y'know, while on the surface you two are pretty different, deep down you're both the same." He jabbed his index finger against the side of his temple, moving it in a screwing motion. "Fucked in the head, and crazy as hell. Go big or go home, huh?"

Lysander didn't smile. "With her, yes. Given the position we were in. And even before that, it was ..." He hesitated, chewing over the words, debating how much to keep and how much to withhold. At last, he said, carefully, "it was the way we were taught."

"Great. And that's how you set yourself up to have a ton of issues as an adult, and you're shining testament to that." Jae lifted his can in a mock salute. "To you, I guess, my favourite crazy fuck." He downed the rest of the drink, then reconsidered. "Well, one of them, anyway. Don't tell Bel I said this, but I like you more. She's too scary for me to be this level with. You still doesn't answer my question, though."

"What question?" Lysander murmured, his eyes half-shut.

"What the hell were you so hung up about? Sure, losing sucks, but you were alive to, uh, make another sacrifice or something. Great. Peachy! Everybody's happy, let's go and get ourselves killed some other time."

The rain picked back up slightly, thunder booming distantly over the skyscrapers. "I told you. It was never about that." Lysander cracked a strange half-smile. "In fact, I rather prefer it this way." He tapped the backs of his knuckles. "If parts of you break, you just replace them. No big deal."

"Woah there, time out." Jae held up a hand, brow furrowing in consternation when it swayed slightly. It looked like he had seven fingers. Did he always have seven fingers and two thumbs on one hand? He frowned, flexing his fingers experimentally. "Uh, hold up there, buddy, I knew we were gonna have a nice deep and meaningful chat sometime tonight, but you are not now or ever going to convince me of the benefits of cyberisation. Sorry to break it to you. That's a whole 'nother can of worms I don't wanna get into just yet."

"What, you gonna start worrying about not being you any more?" Lysander smirked, a rare instance of what was his best shit-eating grin. "Where does the machine start, and you end? When they kept rebuilding the Ship of Theseus, at what point did it stop being the same thing?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

Mercifully, Lysander let the matter drop. Jae reached for another can and missed; Lysander passed it to him before he succeeded in knocking over the precarious stack of takeaway containers and empty, half-crushed cans cluttering the small table. "Okay, next question." Jae popped open the tab, then squinted at the lettering of the can, trying to make out the words in the dim light. It looked like he'd gotten another lot of peach shochu. "So if it wasn't the physical damage, then ... what. Was it you being caught up on your whole, blah blah, I am perfect and infallible because that's what people tried to turn me into, and, woe betide, I didn't see it coming that someone else would act the way they did? Because you always seemed to be awfully hung up on some weird notions of perfectionism and whatnot."

Lysander didn't reply immediately. After a while, he said, "if anything, it was the outrage at what she'd done."

Jae blinked, caught off-guard. "Eh, what?"

Lysander shrugged. "I was younger, and for the first time in my life it was easy to get caught up with having ... I don't know, other friends? Other people to share ideas and goals with. That's what friends are, right?"

"Friends," Jae echoed, and took a thoughtful sip. "Makes me wonder what the fuck your family did to you when you were a kid, geez. What kid didn't have friends? Now I'm really re-evaluating what you meant when you said we are friends."

Lysander ignored him. "In part," he continued, "I was outraged that Eri could so easily turn her back on that. On the whole ... the whole friendship and comrades thing. Outraged, I guess, that she actually dared to do to Bel what went and did to her own predecessor, because I didn't think anyone would be crazy enough to meet her head-on like that. Outraged at myself, for being so caught up with the whole novelty of having people I thought we could trust, that I failed to see the warning signs. Warning signs I should have recognised from ... from a long time before. Success--" this, snarled in a tone that Jae had heard only once or twice before, prelude to words Jae had heard just earlier tonight, "--breeds complacency. I forgot myself, and everything I'd learnt from before."

"Yeesh," Jae said. "Right, well, forget I asked, then, you sound depressingly like a lot of people I know. Some really weird things keep you up at night, you know that? I feel like you and ... fuck, I don't know, I think you and Choe would get along."

The air seemed to congeal then -- or perhaps it was the downpour intensifying to new heights, the air thick and heavy with the smell of rain. "Choe," Lysander said carefully. "Was that the name of the person we met tonight?"

"Uh, _met_ is kinda putting it mildly, but yes." Jae set his can down again, almost missing the table. The side of the can clattered against the edge, and Lysander seized his wrist to guide his hand towards a space between two bottles of empty soju, one lying on its side. “What’s there to say? It’s exactly like you always thought. It’s exactly like how it was for you. I thought I was hot shit and nothing could touch me, because I was too damn good at what I did. Or at least, I thought I was, yadda yadda, you know how the whole damn sorry story goes. Then, y’know, things caught up to me, bit me in the ass at some point. She always used to say that, the whole thing about success breeding complacency, and in the end she had to bail me out. Both of them. And then they died.” Jae was breathing hard by the time he finished, feeling light-headed after blurting out the long, jumbled spiel in one breath. Hands shaking, he reached for the shochu and knocked it over instead.

Lysander’s hand shot out and he righted it before even more could spill. Jae leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and pushing his knuckles into his forehead. “God, I fucked up, I fucked up and after that I left and the rest, as you know, is history,” he babbled. The rain had slowed to a drizzle; he could hear the patter of raindrops against the balustrade, against the tile. “I never wanted to make my own choices again, or, god forbid, be responsible for other people, no matter how indirectly. Served me well enough all this time, I guess, to just follow you guys. Bel tells me to fuck someone up, I do it. She points at me and tells me to jump, I do it. I don't ask questions, I don't get any bright ideas about making myself look good, I don't think about anything beyond getting the job done. The bare minimum. Nothing more, and nothing less, and I thought, hey, that’s it. That’s how I could live. Fuck.” He raised his head, to see Lysander hefting a long, narrow box onto his lap. It was carved from smooth, tawny wood, inlaid with gold in fine, thin patterns. All very fetching, but Jae wasn’t in any mood to admire carpentry of any sort. “What’s that?”

Lysander pushed the box open and brought out a long and ornate pipe, every bit as elegant as the box it had just been unearthed from. This was summarily followed by a small tray and a fairly nondescript prescription bottle, the plastic clouded dark amber. Distracted, Jae felt his mouth dropping open. “Where did you get that from?”

“The set? One of my business associates.” Lysander patted at his pockets before producing a lighter. “It was most generous of them. We've closed many a good deal with them, though; I like their style. Now those are people who know what they want.”

“No, I mean, where did you get that from. Customs wouldn’t have been happy to see you waltzing through with it.”

“Oh. Why not? I could just have told them I was a collector. But, no, I keep one around ...” He coughed, evasive. “If I’m frequently in the area.”

Jae groaned. “Only you are enough of a nutcase to have that many. What is it with you? Normal people, they have a girl or whatever at every port. Or they collect nice, mundane things like foreign coins and stamps. And then there’s you. Spare arms and opium pipes. I don’t even know where to start.”

Lysander ignored him, unscrewing the prescription bottle. “Good lord,” Jae said. “I thought you were supposed to be the sane and sensible one. You are _not_ smoking it up out here on your hotel balcony!”

“Hyperbole and more hyperbole,” Lysander replied, remarkably calm. “That’s why you do it when it’s raining; it’ll suppress the smoke and the smell. Besides,” he said, adding the contents of the bottle to the bowl of the pipe, "stop getting too excited and stop yelling, it's not the good stuff. Don't have any of that here, but you're welcome to join me for the real deal when we're back home."

"I ... uh." Jae folded his arms and stared, not entirely sure of what he was hearing. "Since when did you invite me to indulge in your bad habits?!"

Lysander ignored him in favour of lighting the contents of the pipe. "Since today. Here." He handed the pipe over. "Get the edge off your nerves, at least, I'm a little tired of you yelling into my ear every five minutes. I'm reasonably certain Choe isn't hiding in the curtains. Or waiting to ambush you if you go to the lobby."

"So you say," Jae muttered, taking the pipe. "But until today, you also didn't know Choe existed."

"Hmmm." Lysander watched him carefully. "I'd say the same of you."

"Ah, no, fuck off." Jae inhaled deeply, feeling some of the tension ebbing away. "I feel like this is all some bad dream. Or at least, some weird dream. You're being weirdly nice to me, and a dead person came back to collect their dues. Get me out of this nightmare."

Lysander reached over and plucked the pipe from Jae's fingers. "You keep going on and on about dead people and debts ..."

Jae stared down at his newly empty hands, frowning. "You know of the Choe fox dynasty?"

"Same Choe as--"

"Yeah, that's right. The very same Choe as the beansprout. I used to know a few of them." Jae fidgeted in his seat. "Well, two of them, anyway. There was a perfectly good reason why I, uh, tried to avoid having anything to do with the the twins, you know." He laughed; it came out much louder than he intended. "The twin princesses of the great fox dynasties. What a joke. I never thought I'd be meeting two of the main heirs themselves. Indirectly, I feel like I owe them an apology, for killing some of their relatives."

"Huh." Lysander waved a little, to dissipate some of the smoke. "And here I was thinking you were just trying to get out of being useful."

Jae clicked his tongue, forming his thumb and forefinger into a makeshift gun. "Ha. Well, that too, I'll give you that. Pass the pipe?"

Lysander handed it over. Jae brought it to his mouth a bit too fast, almost knocking the tip against his front teeth. "Shit. I don't know what to say. The two of them, the ones that I knew, they were pretty prominent as well, pretty far up the branches. Might as well have been main branch, but I don't know how much Aika or Yuna knew about them, given how one of them's still prancing around trying to kill me. I just ... I don't really know which one it is. Besides, I can't have Yuna and Aika knowing I got some of their cousins or something, killed. S'not a good look, and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't want me teaching them anything, after finding that out."

"Tell me about it, then. Tell me about what happened.."

Jae shut his eyes, resting his head against the back of the seat. "D'you remember when we were young? And I fucked off just after we graduated from being trainees?"

"Yes." Lysander laughed under his breath, expelling thin wisps of smoke. "I'm surprised you didn't leave sooner; you never listened to any of the instructors."

"They never said much worth listening to. Going on and on about rules, this, regulations, that. I only really stayed because Sae Byeok told me to."

"Sae Byeok." Lysander frowned. "The name sounds a little familiar."

Jae shrugged. "You may have met her. I don't know. A little older than me, served as a trainee for some time but left. Me and her brother, we were childhood friends -- and that's how we met, how I got to know them. I didn't like how rigid and structured everything was, working for the witch queen, so I wanted out, but she insisted on me staying until I completed the basic training."

"I'm surprised you actually listened to someone," Lysander said. He plucked the pipe out of Jae's fingers. 

"I listen to people only if they don't tell me stupid shit I already know." Jae watched as Lysander exhaled a plume of smoke, almost purplish in the light. "And too many people like telling me stupid shit I already know."

"Fair."

Struck by a sudden thought, Jae leaned forwards -- and Lysander tracked his movements silently, his pale eyes narrowed. He didn't pull away, not even when Jae loomed closer and closer, staring into his eyes. "Hey," Jae murmured, so softly he almost couldn't hear himself. "So how do I know it's you I'm looking at and talking to, and not some other nutter? How do I know you're the real Lysander?"

Lysander raised his brows, but made no attempt to move. "I take it my word wouldn't be enough," he said. Jae's eyes flicked downwards, to the pulse beating lazily at the base of his throat, the skin pale against the undone collar of his silly anchor-printed shirt. "And how would I go about convincing you?"

"The real Lysander wouldn't wear funky hipster shirts." Jae plucked at the collar, yanking a bit too hard when his hand twitched with unease. Lysander growled in warning, a low note in his chest. Jae shook his head, collecting himself. "The real Lysander," he said quietly, "wouldn't offer to listen to me spill my guts, all over his fancy, expensive shoes."

"Maybe you don't know the real me." Lysander's voice stopped Jae short, just momentarily. It wasn’t as though he was wrong; Jae didn’t even know that about about Bel, or Lysander, to begin with. If anything, perhaps he only knew a little more now than he did, back when he’d first met them. "Maybe you never knew the real me,” Lysander continued, nonchalant. With a brisk jerk, he pulled himself out of Jae's grasp.

"Exactly." Jae found himself holding his breath, though he didn't remember consciously doing such a thing. He edged forwards, almost close enough to see himself reflected in Lysander's eyes. "How can I even trust you, huh?”

Lysander blinked slowly, lazily at him, the guarded stare of a cat only pretending to be drowsy. He twirled the slender pipe around his fingertips, considering. “I saved your life. Isn’t that enough for you? It is for most people.”

“Most people," Jae conceded. "But you could have an ulterior motive. Lots of people do, you know.”

“Tch.” Lysander made an impatient noise through his teeth. “So pedantic.”

“Just have my self-interest in mind, is all.” Jae pulled away slightly, resisting the urge to cough. "All this faffing around. You're not exactly helping your case."

Something akin to a smirk crawled up the side of Lysander's mouth. "And what're you going to do," he murmured, very softly. "Are you going to try and kill me?"

Jae felt a shiver starting at the back of his neck. "Who knows," he said, forcing his voice to stay light and even.

Lysander held his gaze, unblinking. "I was born in the western mountains, to a family that no longer exists," he said, his voice almost a hiss. "To a heretic family, sealed and buried, and the mountain formed their tomb. For a few decades, for all intents and purposes, I didn't exist -- not until it was convenient to, anyway. I went west, went to align myself with the Leandros family -- and then returned east, to help my heretic sister realise her ambitions. Is that enough for you?"

"You could be lying," Jae said, his heart pounding in his mouth. "I don't know whether any of that is true or not."

"That's not my problem, is it?"

"God damn it." Jae felt his eyes watering, from not breaking eye contact first. "Stop being difficult. C’mon, tell me something only the two of us know."

Lysander leaned back, and took a measured drag from the pipe. “Something only the two of us know?” he echoed, looking thoughtful. “How about ... you bought me novelty slippers for my birthday last year. They look like little stuffed white tigers, and the soles are shaped like pawprints.” He took another breath, exhaling a long, slow stream. “I wear them every time I’m home. Very comfortable, I must say. Makes me feel like I'm walking on clouds. I like wearing them, even if I don't really care for how they look.”

“Really?” Jae snorted -- and pitched forward slightly as he did. “That may be one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me. Huh. I had no idea you liked them so much. Now I know what to buy you every year.”

“God, no, don’t do that.” 

"Huh, why not? Aren't you glad they keep your ickle lil' feetsies warm?"

"I am, yes, but I do not need novelty slippers for every day of the year." The tension averted, Lysander swatted Jae away and took another drag from his pipe. "What happened after? After you left?"

Jae said nothing for a few moments, carefully trying to rest his ankles on the slippery balustrade without losing his precarious balance in the chair. "What's to say? We roved around like a regular little band of mercenaries, no big deal. Hunted heretics, demons, engaged thaumaturgists, as you do."

"As you do," Lysander repeated, straight-faced. "And then?"

"And then I went and fucked up, is what I did. Got us in a tight spot and thought, hey, this is it. This is how I die, at the mercy of a bunch interested in testing out just how well their corpse dragon could perform, and just how well they could control it. Spoiler," he added, breaking off to wave a finger at Lysander, "very well, and not well enough." He sighed, slouching low in the chair. "In hindsight, after seeing Yong, it wasn't even anything to write home about. They called it Imugi and it was just the latest in a series of attempts to see whether they could create a Heruka, as opposed to, y'know, letting nature run its course and allowing the demon growing stronger over time. Imulgi was like a cute little baby snake compared to the monstrosity that is Yong."

Lysander smiled. "I'll tell her you said that."

"Sure, do whatever you want." Jae waved his hand, a limp and tired motion. "Anyway, the rest pretty much went about as you can well imagine." Jae held up his hand, counting off the points. "Long story short, I escape relatively alive and relatively intact, some people weren't so lucky because they had to fix my fuckups. Or more accurately, were hellbent on getting me out of said fuckup. Beats me on why they cared so much, really."

"This senior of yours, this Sae Byeok. She seemed alive and well enough when we met her tonight."

"Ah. That's where tonight's mystery man comes in. Choe Han Byeol," Jae said, slurring the syllables slightly. "Her younger brother, here to collect their dues. Which, no offense, I kinda wanted to hand straight to him, until you came barging right in."

A smile twitched along the corner of Lysander's mouth; it was by no means a pleasant one. "Are you saying I should have left you to get killed?"

"Maybe." Jae laced his fingers together, staring out into the rain. The lights of the city were blurred from the downpour, foggy pinpricks of brightness winking in the night. "Man. I thought I'd gotten both of them killed that night. Funny, huh, how old ghosts like coming back to haunt you?"

"That's why you put them to rest," Lysander said, gazing out into the city. He held the pipe loosely in his hand, eyes not quite focused. "That's why you kill them, before they can kill you."

Jae cast him a wary glance, sidelong. "You saying that's what you've been doing?"

"Maybe." Lysander's eyes slid towards him, his expression unreadable. "It's like you said before. My sister has made -- and earned -- more than her share of enemies. Some more personal than others. Some unaware they were even categorised as enemies."

"And, let me guess, it's your business to take care of them?" When Lysander didn't reply, Jae threw up his hands, almost knocking the pipe over. "Great. Excellent. It's like my life is filled with vengeful nutcases, and I'm the only one who wants to just, y'know, maybe go through life without having to constantly look over my shoulder and second-guess every single thing I do. Is that really too much to ask?"

"Yes," Lysander said; from the sound of it, he meant it completely unironically. "I have a question for you, though. How do you know that was the real Choe? We've seen that this one is reasonably accomplished with illusion magic. For all you know, it could be anyone else. Anyone else from their family."

"Did you hear what you just said?" Jae demanded, pivoting in his seat to look Lysander directly in the eye. "Choe. Illusion magic. That's precisely what the Choe foxes are known for. Well, mainly, anyway. The Kurahashi foxes, insane and outrageous firepower, coupled with massive reserves of magical and spiritual strength and endurance. The Choe, mindfuck illusions. That, and a streak of vengefulness. What do you get, when you put that together?"

"It seems Choe -- your Choe -- is working with thaumaturgists." 

Jae made a disparaging noise. "That doesn't really mean anything. Eri's working with thaumaturgists. Yodzuru's working with thaumaturgists. Han Byeol probably decided, fuck it, let's work with humans because that's a better way to kill me. And you know what, he's kinda got a point."

"Hm." Lysander sat back, remarkably calm. His pipe was burning low, thin wisps of smoke curling around the bowl. "He's well and truly blown his cover, then."

"He probably wasn't counting on me having backup. One-on-one, he'd have won."

"Only because you decided it was a great idea to forfeit before the match even started, and give him your head on a silver platter." Lysander didn't sound angry, or accusatory -- just matter-of-fact, and perhaps even a little resigned. Jae looked away, unable to argue otherwise. 

The pipe burned itself out eventually; true to Lysander's word, Jae could smell anything in the rain. Lysander emptied the ashes into one of the empty takeout containers; Jae checked the time, and swore under his breath.

"We're supposed to be flying back out in under six hours."

"I know." Lysander was piling up the containers, slotting them into each other. He didn't look terribly perturbed.

Jae spluttered. "Why didn't you say so earlier? How am I supposed to sleep now?"

"You can sleep on the plane." 

"Yeah, that's so easy for you to say, Mister-I-Have-Not-Slept-For-Two-Hundred-Years. Why don't you love yourself a little?"

Lysander ignored him and stood up, rather squelchily, on his sodden slippers. "Besides, it was far more important to go through this."

"Go through what," Jae grumbled, getting up as well. His bad knee creaked in protest; he winced, swayed a little bit; Lysander, for neither the first nor last time that evening, reached out and steadied him. 

"Closure. Debrief. Whatever you want to call it. It may not have been the closure you wanted, but perhaps it's the start of the one you needed." Lysander slid the balcony door open and they both traipsed inside, somewhat damp and slightly cold. Jae sneezed loudly, far too close to Lysander than either of them would have liked. 

"Right, well, thanks for the debrief, I guess." Jae disengaged himself from Lysander's grasp and attempted to hobble towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Where else, back to my own room so I can sleep for about three hours until we gotta check out. If it's all the same to you, you're kinda eating into my already miserable beauty sleep time." Jae turned clumsily on his heel, almost sliding off-balance on his wet slippers. "And no offense -- but also full offense -- you really could do with more beauty sleep."

Lysander made a noise that was both impatient and somewhat rude. "Just sleep here, then. Wasn't that what you were trying to do all night? Scam me out of my room?"

Jae squinted at him, one hand on the door handle. "What?"

"You heard me. Bed's yours. Consider me scammed by your ... your sob story."

"What," Jae repeated, narrowing his eyes further. "You sure you're all right? Didn't catch a cold or something? Brain didn't get too addled from Han Byeol's stake supreme?"

"No, now shut up and go to bed before I reconsider."

Uncertain, Jae crossed slowly to the bed and flopped heavily down onto it. "Uh ... well ... thanks, I guess."

This time, it was Lysander's turn to look awkward. "It's nothing."

Jae rolled over onto his back, arms outstretched, casting around wildly for something to distract them both with. "Okay, but what if I get a cold from you insisting we stay out in the rain? Are you going to make me chicken soup?"

Lysander threw a sideways glance at him. "You're not going to get a cold just because your feet got a little bit wet. And how can you still think about food?"

"You don't know that," Jae said, but Lysander had already moved on to the bathroom. He emerged holding a plastic bag with the soggy bandages and wet, bloodstained towels Jae had left in the bathtub, making his way towards the balcony.

"Oh, shit, my bad -- I was going to, uh, put them away somewhere or something." Jae watched as Lysander opened the balcony door and dumped the sorry mess out on the tiles. "What're you going to do?"

"Burn them," Lysander said, completely offhandedly, as though that was the sort of thing he did all the time. At the end of the day, it probably amounted to burning evidence, because most people -- normal people -- would probably want to make some police report or other about attempted murder. Jae decided not to ask too many questions about how Lysander was hoping to accomplish this, given the rain and the state of the wet pile. 

"Um ..."

Lysander looked back over his shoulder at him, one foot in the room, the other on the balcony. The smell of rain and smog wafted in through the open door; it made Jae feel strangely at ease. "What is it?"

"The scarf." Jae cleared his throat. "Your scarf. It was a nice one, wasn't it?"

"Maybe. So?"

"I'll get you a new one," Jae finished, rather lamely. "Sorry. And ... thanks, man. Thank you. For everything. Tonight. I, uh, I appreciate it."

"It's fine," Lysander said, his voice sounding quiet and faraway.

Jae must have fallen asleep at some point, because he thought he heard the balcony door open and then close again; he also thought he heard the sound of Lysander's voice -- though he didn't actually hear what was being said. Jae woke up to the distant sound of rain hitting the windowpanes and balcony door. Inside the room, all the lights had been turned off, the only illumination coming from the bathroom door, left slighly ajar. His skin felt oily from sleep and strangely clammy, his teeth dry and tacky; his was cheek creased from the sheets. He his head, he tried to adjust his position -- and was reminded of his arm only when he rolled over it. 

The numbers on the digital clock readout changed. Jae turned towards the nightstand, squinting a little. It was some time after four in the morning -- he hadn't been asleep for all that long.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lysander sitting in the armchair by the balcony, reading something on a tablet in the dark. He was wearing reading glasses, the lenses glinting with a faint hint of blue-green. Spelled lenses, Jae knew; the kind that saw through to the other planes, the kind that could see through some illusions. The kind he'd been diligent about wearing, up until a few years ago. He'd have to find his old pair now. He opened his mouth, unsticking his tongue from the backs of his teeth. "Whayadoin?"

Lysander glanced up. "Go back to sleep," he said. "It's still early."

"Why're you awake?" Jae asked, even though he already knew the answer. He had travelled often enough with Lysander to know he never slept.

"Go back to sleep," Lysander repeated. He turned his head slightly, focused back on whatever he had been reading. Jae could see the white of his screen, reflected in the glasses; he couldn't see Lysander's eyes at all. "Don't worry. I'll wake you up when it's time to go."

Jae nodded, even though he knew Lysander wasn't looking at him. Shivering, he kicked off his cold, damp slippers and crawled under the sheets, tugging the covers over himself. "Thanks," he mumbled, not sure if he was even loud enough for Lysander to hear him, over the low hum of the air conditioning. He thought about saying the rest of what he wanted to; he thought about what exactly he should say, when, perhaps, words would barely be enough. In the end, he settled for wedging himself between the pillows, the sheets cool against his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> First and only thing I finished this year. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
